


Attitude or Arabesque

by Memoryboard



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Ballet, First Kiss, Julliard au, Kinda but not really, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Will add more tags as we go along, dance class, i guess, swears everywhere, vlogging - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-11-04 10:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10989501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memoryboard/pseuds/Memoryboard
Summary: How to calm the fuck down about possibly finding yourself in a class taught by Viktor NikiforovBy Katsuki YuuriStep 1: Allow yourself to die on the inside for a couple of times. Denial isn’t the best way to go.Step 2: Find the goddamn school handbook and go over course offerings that remotely allude to being an introductory class. Hopefully find one that didn’t involve any of your own.Step 3: Gather spices and herbs and pray to the moon gods that Viktor Nikiforov teaches Modern Jazz 101 or Introductory Latin Dance instead.Step 4: Repeat until sane.-(alternatively, Yuuri follows his dream of becoming a danseur, but life decided to screw with him by adding his long-time idol into the mix of weird school faculty)





	1. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to post a disclaimer on how I am _not_ talented enough to go to Julliard or cool enough to have had friends who went there. I'm just winging stuff although I did research a bit. Course titles and class conductions could be far off and I wouldn't know.
> 
> Also, look, a short multi-chapter! Fucking finally.

Anyone who was stupid enough to believe that the movie _Fame_ had an actual semblance to reality was an idiot. In this case, Yuuri was one of them.

Don’t get him wrong, he found comfort in the fact that people somehow deemed him adequate to have been admitted to Julliard of all schools.

It’s just that—well, let’s be honest—when you think about _Julliard_ the first image that comes to mind would be a cafeteria full of people who just happen to have instruments or tap shoes on them and then everyone just breaks out into this really annoyingly catchy song and dance sequence. In truth, they’re all just either weird band geeks, soulless writers, and melodramatic dancers.

Those jocks that bullied them in high school? Yeah, they still probably wanted to give them wedgies.

He’s not ungrateful, not at all, but who knew the opening ceremonies didn’t consist of dancing Seniors or singing or something other than the director babbling the long-forgotten school history with a self-important air about him.

He looked like he hated his job.

Yuuri was nudged by Phichit who sat next to him, to which he responded to with a raised eyebrow.

They met during the audition week and somehow, despite Yuuri’s crippling awkwardness and the fact that the other was trying to get into a different department, Phichit has won him over with a single paragraph that alluded to rodents (or was it specifically hamsters?), music schools, and his love for coffee. Not to mention that they lived not too far from each other, which eventually led to occasional sleep overs and Quentin Tarantino marathons—all packed in the brief duration of a week.

This said new friend of his shifted to the side as inconspicuously as he could, and whispered, “it’s starting to sound a bit grim.”

He was referring to the speech the director was giving them, which had now taken a detour towards a disclaimer about ‘ _getting into and successfully graduating from Julliard doesn’t guarantee a fruitful career_ ’.

Wow.

Okay?

Well, it wasn’t like Yuuri wasn’t aware of this.

You could always find yourself getting into one of the best dance companies in wherever and still end up getting five insignificant minutes of stage time per show. You could always have a Youtube channel, gain a decent following, and never break out into the international scene like Justin Bieber (regrettably, he didn’t know who else to make references to).

Yuuri knew how performing arts wasn’t the safest way to go, especially if he wanted to stay in New York and pay rent, yet here he was. Well, once upon a time he had been this hopeful idiot, so who could blame him for thinking that this was somehow a great idea?

“You think Viktor sat through this shit without walking out?” Phichit whispered.

He shrugged. “Beats me.”

Oh, yeah.

Speaking of hopeful idiocy, Yuuri admittedly made his decision to try out Julliard because of one embarrassingly pathetic reason: Viktor Nikiforov.

He loved dancing as it was, truly, but there ought to be people who liked Viola Davis enough to want to be like her, right? Some of those people probably wished to have gone to the same school she went to. In Yuuri’s case, he had to drink a few glasses of brandy before he left his apartment on the day of the auditions. He remembered practically showering in men’s perfume to cover the scent, chest throbbing painfully as he ran to school, and yet somehow delivered adequately.

Yuuri had to go through all that to even get to where he was.

There were times he managed to say off-handed declarations on skipping the university thing and just start somewhere small, hone his skills, and pray to dear lady luck. Minako lectured him every time.

Apparently, sometimes talent isn’t always the foundation of a good career; but various factors such as luck, money, and education.

Or maybe it was good looks. Viktor was pretty, so it wasn’t a surprise that he garnered a respectable fanbase outside of his dance career. So if that were the case, then Yuuri’s career was a lost cause.

Although, Viktor was more than a pretty face, he’ll give him that.

But he sure did have a pretty face.

“Yuuri,” Phichit sniggered. “You have that thinking face again.”

Well.

They both ended up getting noticed by the school director for not listening.

-

Soon after, the said boring speech ended (which he thanked that seven-winged seraphs for), and they were shooed away and told to be early for classes the next day. As soon as they were outside, Phichit didn’t ask before he grabbed Yuuri by the sleeve and dragged him into the nearest hipster coffee shop he could find.

It was dreadful.

“If I wanted my soul to rot, I’d go here,” he muttered, looking at the artsy DIY plant pots made from mason jars. What’s with hipsters and mason jars?

Phichit laughed. “It’s artsy, we’re both nerds who go to arts school, and we don’t have a bright future ahead of us,” he said, sipping at his abomination of a ‘banana peanut butter macchiato’. Whatever that was. “I think it’s fitting.”

Somewhere around the world, some normal Freshman thought that he could become the next Michael Bublé or Frank Sinatra. Or the next Margaret Thatcher. Or Benedict Anderson. Or Miley Cyrus circa wrecking ball.

You get the idea.

In this coffee shop sat two people of the same age as that deluded Freshman. The difference was that they knew that hey were going to be dead on the inside in the next five years.

Minako had once told Yuuri that if he just tried, he was going to make it big, maybe audition for one of those dance companies she kept on a list. He could be a dick about it and ask her to pull strings in his favour—which wasn’t too hard if you were a protégé of someone as illustrious as Minako Okukawa—but then that would help eradicate his already rapidly shrinking self-worth.

“What classes have you got tomorrow?” Yuuri leaned over the table to peer at Phichit’s printed schedule, desperate to redirect his thoughts outwards instead of inwards.

“Some introductory stuff on Playwriting,” he grimaced, thumbing through a newly-bought school handbook. “As if I haven’t read Shakespeare for the hundredth time.”

“Well, it’s Julliard, so...maybe you’ll get weird post-modern plays or something,” Yuuri shrugged. “If it isn’t, then it’s not like Shakespeare just happened to be a circumstantial literary genius.”

Phichit made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I’d like to dig him back up and share my strong opinions on _Hamlet_.”

Yuuri did not, as he learned from experience, ask about what those strong opinions were. Phichit was wonderful and a delight to talk to, but he got carried away so easily that a conversation on Shakespeare’s incompetence was going to lead to theoretically defiling gravestones for the funzies. It’s happened before.

“How about yours?”

“Hmmm?”

“What’s your first class?”

Oh. Right.

Yuuri hadn’t even bothered to check that. Thanks to Phichit, he now did, which was a disappointment because nothing on it was interesting. He didn’t know what he wanted to see, maybe pole dancing or just plain old cabaret glam, but no...

“Classical ballet,” Yuuri read.

“Eh?” Phichit raised his eyebrows. “But aren’t you like a pro in ballet?”

“What?”

“There we go. I hate it when you do that,” he said, pulling out the straw to his drink and used it to point at Yuuri. “Not all of us are taught by people who’s got a nice _Benois De La Dance_ award decorating their coffee tables.”

“It’s on a glass cabinet,” Yuuri felt himself frown. “And no, that doesn’t mean sensei’s got fairy dust that can magically turn me into something great. Maybe I’ll break a leg and ruin my non-existent career before I get there, who knows.”

“ _Or_ it could get you to Neverland.”

Here we go.

“There’s a theory that the lost boys never get old because they aren’t allowed to be,” Yuuri absentmindedly commented, pulling non-verbatim ideas he’s read somewhere. Frankly, his attention was elsewhere, but he never did like it when things went awkwardly silent. “Peter Pan supposedly kills them once they’ve grown too old and just kidnaps other children to replace them.”

Phichit snorted. “You’re spending way too much time on Reddit, my friend.”

“It’s a plausible theory.”

“How about this, Wendy’s dad was actually a lost boy! You’ve seen the last part where he said he might have seen the pirate ship before?”

“That’s Disney, not J.M. Barrie.”

“Exactly,” Phichit shrugged, sipping on his drink again. Disgusting. “Disney can get pretty dark. Scar was a murderous brother, Maleficent was raped, and don’t get me started on Bambi.”

“Right,” Yuuri said, noncommittally, just in time when his phone _pinged_.

He checked the phone as he went, noticing the little notification and trying to read what it was—

“What?” Phichit asked.

What, indeed.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Is.

Happening.

His expression might have said it all, since Phichit instinctively leaned over to see what it’s about. It took a while, the scene comically involved Yuuri nearly hyperventilating and Phichit trying to piece things out.

“Didn’t know you were on Viktor Nikiforov’s notification squad.” Phichit snorted, although Yuuri could tell from his tone that he didn’t know what the video title said. “On his Vlogging channel too!”

“I—um—I think...” Yuuri was open-mouthed and wide-eyed as he stared at the Youtube notification that clearly was an April Fool’s Day joke.

Okay, it’s September, but who knew what Viktor was up to?

“I know he’s hot but you don’t have to—Oh.”

So...it wasn’t a hallucination? Phichit was also seeing this? Could it be possible to meet someone in the purgatory?

“ _Oh._ Shit. Yuuri!”

“I know.”

The offending notification, which featured Viktor Nikiforov’s beautiful smiling face, looked like it normally would—there’s his familiar channel icon that has gone unchanged for years, the usual generic stuff the app tells you about some newly uploaded content, and a title. Viktor didn’t upload anything special on his Vlog channel, mostly just very long videos of him shopping or trying out new recipes, but this one—

_Vlog 34 – Makka’s Vet Visit, Throwback, Guest Teaching at Alma Mater_

-

Yuuri must have worn out the old rug from walking over it repeatedly.

He came home approximately two hours ago, and he still hadn’t done anything except throw his satchel towards the nearest corner and began pacing about like you would see in the movies. The kind where there’s this self-important character who walked around with their hands behind them? Yeah, he looked like that, although a lot more miserable. And pathetic. And unnecessarily nervous.

He was still contemplating whether or not he should go ahead and watch the video already. It’s not like he was going to see much, wouldn’t he? Viktor could very well be assigned to more advanced classes because honestly why would he waste time conducting basic lessons?

Yuuri’d be lying if he wasn’t hoping to see Viktor, preferably in the hallways, close enough to tell how thick his eyelashes were. He’ll die seven times probably, but it wasn’t an unwelcome thought. However, imagining his long-time idol handling a class Yuuri was in?

He’s pretty sure it’d be a one-way ticket to the hospital due to either aneurysms, trauma from falling too many times, or a broken nose. Really, it wasn’t going to help him at all if he just—

Well, fuck it.

Yuuri went to pick up his phone, and still pacing, tapped on the notification.

The video started with Viktor holding his camera in front of him, gorgeous in a beige pullover, chatting up the unseen audience about Makkachin gaining in years and the need for extra TLC. He was rambling on, walking around in his house to pick up car keys, his jacket, and the likes.

It felt so weirdly personal it sometimes made Yuuri believe he was a part of it. That’s stupid of course, but one can dream.

The scene then cut to Viktor driving his car around, camera on the dashboard, eyes on the road. Sometimes, when he stopped for a red light, he’d look at the camera and talk to his audience again, speaking as he would in front of someone rather than through a lens.

Viktor kept talking about nothing, ranging from his favourite snack to his love for certain TV shows, and yet Yuuri still kept listening.

“ _I remember the first time I auditioned for a dance company in Los Angeles,_ ” Viktor’s voice echoed in Yuuri’s apartment, tone cheery and far away. “ _I got through up until the second screening, and then the director pulled me aside and told me I lacked originality._ ”

Viktor? Him of all people? Lacked originality?

Yuuri felt personally attacked.

“ _But he was nice about it! I think he was right when he didn’t accept me back then, otherwise I would have blended into the background so easily..._ ”

Okay, not true.

Viktor laughed, just a little bit, his face fond. “ _So I took that critique to heart and reinvented my technique, ventured out to other genres, practiced until my feet bled—okay, you didn’t need to know that bit, but you know what I mean_.” He stopped at a red light again, looking behind him to check up on Makkachin, who made her presence known by barking excitedly. “ _Anyway, if you’re wondering about today, I’m kind of in a dilemma..._ ”

The said dilemma involved not being able to call the clinic for an appointment, which was shame since it was the only time Viktor was available. He went on to talk about how he hoped the clinic was going to take them in anyway, maybe use Makkachin’s charms to convince the coldest of hearts.

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile.

There’s definitely something in Viktor’s voice, something Yuuri couldn’t point out—something between the lovely curve of tongue when his Russian accent comes through or when it slowly dropped an octave when he emphasized his words.

Yuuri’s aware that this level of fanboying has probably crossed the stalker line, but he wasn’t alone in that if the number of views and subscribers were something to go by.

Eventually, Viktor pulled up at a parking area, the sun far too gentle to be noon yet, and then he began looking at the camera again. “ _Okay, before Makka and I go, I need to get this out—_ “

Yuuri took a deep breath, heavy and nervous, and waited.

“ _—I’ve always wondered if I’d be any good at teaching, so I’m really thankful that I somehow got invited to teach basic dance classes!_ ”

Basic? Wait, was Yuuri going deaf or schizophrenic or—

“ _Madame Lilia warned me not to handle anything too advanced, since I’m starting out and would probably be awful at it,_ ” He laughed. Viktor had a wonderful laugh. “ _So, for anyone who’s gotten in, I sure hope to see you next time! Please go easy on me, alright?_ ”

The rest of the remaining seconds blurred into nothing as Yuuri stood there, his brain stuttering uncontrollably, his chest ready to send him into full-on panic.

Go easy.

On him.

What.

Thirty minutes after the video cut off, Yuuri was still hovering about in his living room. Like the idiot he was.

-

 

> **How to calm the fuck down about possibly finding yourself in a class taught by Viktor Nikiforov**
> 
> By Katsuki Yuuri
> 
> Step 1: Allow yourself to die on the inside for a couple of times. Denial isn’t the best way to go.
> 
> Step 2: Find the goddamn school handbook and go over course offerings that remotely allude to being an introductory class. Hopefully find one that didn’t involve any of your own.
> 
> Step 3: Gather spices and herbs and pray to the moon gods that Viktor Nikiforov teaches Modern Jazz 101 or Introductory Latin Dance instead.
> 
> Step 4: Repeat until sane.

-

Step 4 didn’t work. Which in fact, meant that all of the steps didn’t work at all.

Yuuri’s day was what you’d call a comical disaster because _a.) he tripped on his shoelaces on his way out the door_ , and _b.) he was running like he was in a shoujo manga minus the piece of toast between his teeth._

He sped through the halls as soon as he stepped foot inside the building, ran to his locker, and quickly changed out his sneakers for a pair of worn ballet shoes. Thank god he had the foresight to wear his tights under his jeans, otherwise he would have gone into full panic and ditched the first class out of the sheer embarrassment of having to walk in late.

Also, he’d add another reason for his day becoming a comical disaster, so it’s _c.) he got lost trying to look for the studio._

Of course, it shouldn’t have been easy to miss, considering that that studios to different dance classes are technically clustered in the same building. But no, he found himself running about like a madman, passing by irrelevant rooms before he turned to the right hallway.

Deeming it a little safe to calm down a bit, he allowed himself to lean against one of the lockers, catching his breath while he’s at it. Fat drops of sweat came rolling down his forehead, his face flushed from the exertion, feeling heat seeping out of his skin like he was a fucking volcano about to explode.

He checked his watch.

Ten minutes late.

He could handle that.

It’s not like it was the worst first impression he could make on his first day. Nope, not at all. Maybe. He wasn’t too sure at the this point.

He tried to make himself look a bit presentable by wiping his face on the neck of his shirt and running fingers through his hair. Yuuri was just about to check the room numbers when a door opened.

And oh, would you look at that.

Apparently, the heavens decided it would be nice to add to his already disastrous morning.

Here’s the picture: Yuuri was there in the deserted hallway, panting like an exhausted animal, and the next thing he knew one of the studio doors opened.

_d.) It just so happened that Viktor Nikiforov was the one who walked out._

He had two options—either he was going to slink back and crawl under the nearest proverbial rock, or he was going to just stand there and pretend he’s one with the lockers.

Yuuri, of course, chose the second option.

At first, Viktor was looking toward the opposite direction of where Yuuri stood, like he was looking for something or someone, and then he turned. It was inevitable, since Yuuri was the only one standing in the middle of the fucking hallway for heaven’s sake, so it was natural that Viktor’s eyes landed on him.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, mouth dropping open as if he was about to say something.

He was beautiful, by the way.

Despite the ongoing red alert inside Yuuri’s brain, he couldn’t help but notice how lovely Viktor looked in black. Well, he was lovely in any colour, to be honest, but the point is that he was absolutely stunning in his loose black shirt and grey sweatpants. He didn’t wear ballet shoes or anything like that, just plain old sneakers, but what a sight—

“Oh, there you are!” Viktor beamed.

Huh?

Yuuri had to look behind him to make sure he was the one being addressed, blinked several times when he found out that no one was there, and turned to face Viktor again. He didn’t manage to get any of his words out.

“I was doing a headcount and we’re missing one,” Viktor waved at him casually. “Are you Yuuri Katsuki?”

“I—um,” Yuuri swallowed.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

So he _was_  in Viktor’s class.

That was the reality.

Was he still in the purgatory?

Viktor tilted his head to the side, looking rather confused. “Do you—Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

“No, no, no,” Yuuri blurted out. Wonderful. Just wonderful. “I—I’m sorry I’m late! I got caught in traffic and got lost finding the studio. Not an excuse! I know, I—um—”

“Yuuri.”

What.

Yuuri’s mouth hung open, embarrassingly startled by the use of his name.

Remember when he said he’s got a thing for Viktor’s voice? It’s not even a ‘thing’ anymore as much as it is an obsession...but whatever, you get the idea.

“Yes?” he managed.

“We’re just doing stretches.”

Okay?

“You can come in.”

Um.

“Yuuri,” Viktor smiled, his face lighting up. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Oh—I—” Yuuri stuttered pathetically for a while, caught his bearings, and sighed. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Viktor opened the door to the studio for him, and gestured for Yuuri to come inside. “No problem.”

Yuuri, who was glad he didn’t fall on his face on his way to the room, quickly passed by Viktor like a skittering mouse.

Everyone else was doing stretches by the _barre_ or on the polished floor. There was no sign of order as there would have been if the class had already started. He wasn’t as late as he thought, then.

“Think you could do your stretches in ten?” Viktor’s melodic voice was coming from somewhere really close to his ear, and Yuuri had to grasp at what was left of his self-control not to jump. “I’ll extend stretching time for another five, but that’s all I can manage.”

As he turned, he found that Viktor was really close. Well, not too close, but this was the first time Yuuri’s seen him in person and it was all too overwhelming. He was bent over, just a little, enough so his face was level with Yuuri’s.

“Thank you,” was all Yuuri could say.

And he walked off, far out of Viktor’s breathing space, and found himself grasping the _barre_. There were a lot more boys in this class than he anticipated. He recognized Leo, whom Yuuri had met during audition week, and Guang-Hong who caught Yuuri’s eye and smiled.

Back in Hasetsu, there was only Yuuri amongst a sea of femaled, and even those girls didn’t stay too long before they gave up dancing. Minako eventually offered him private lessons, otherwise he’d find himself stuck with eight year olds during the day.

“Stuck in traffic?” Leo asked, as they were both doing stretches on the _barre_.

Yuuri shrugged. “Remind me to never take the buses again.”

It went on like that for another ten minutes, Yuuri making small talk and trying his best not to pull a muscle from doing his stretches too quickly. When that was done, Viktor clapped his hands sharply, and called for all of them to sit cross-legged in four lines. Yuuri waited until everyone else settled to make sure he could sit on the back of the line.

“Straighten your backs. I won’t tolerate bad posture.” Viktor was walking languidly in front of the mirror, smiling as he was surveying his students. “I’ve talked to Madame Lilia about this. Since you’re the first class to use this studio, she’s given me permission to let you come in early to do your stretches. Which means we’re starting with lessons as soon as it’s seven, I’ll be opening doors at six-thirty.”

Yuuri allowed his eyes to wander to his other classmates, recognizing a few he’s seen during audition week. Some were familiar faces like Sara Crispino, who was already performing in shows at the age of eight. There was this other guy who was the son of a prolific danseur. On the first row was a girl whom he remembered to have done wonderfully during their auditions.

That was the moment, and inconveniently so, where his current predicament managed to sink in.

This was _Julliard_.

This wasn’t some ordinary dance school that made dancing fun. This was an institution that either made you want to quit, martyr your way into a proper career, or go insane before even graduating. Many hopeful eighteen-year-olds dropped everything they had for a shot at being in this very class, and most of them had to come home after getting their dreams crushed with a quick ‘next!’.

Yuuri tried really hard to avoid thinking about his worthlessness again. Instead, he allowed himself to finally look at Viktor, which apparently turned out to be a mistake.

“And oh, by the way,” Viktor smiled, voice almost a little too cheery. “Starting tomorrow, if anyone comes in late there’s a penalty! You get to perform in font of the class. I don’t care what piece as long as it’s classical ballet, are we clear?”

His eyes went to Yuuri, and winked.

God save him.

-

 

> **How to calm the fuck down when you find out you’re in a Viktor Nikiforov’s dance class**
> 
> By Katsuki Yuuri
> 
> Step 1: When Viktor’s doing a run through of a routine, try not to drool. You’re going to look stupid and will not be able to forgive yourself.
> 
> Step 2: If Viktor finally teaches you the routine, make sure not to look at his direction but also try your best not to screw up. The best way to do this is to look at the nearest classmate and take references from them instead.
> 
> Step 3: If Viktor divided your class into groups, pray to the holy father that someone was good enough to catch everyone else’s attention. This will make it easier to blend into the background.
> 
> Step 4: Do not, by any means, look at your instructor in the eye.

-

Viktor had everyone sit at the sides to run through a short piece by himself.

He choreographed this—Yuuri would know, since he’s seen it on Viktor’s official Youtube channel. It’s one of the old ones, he realized, each and every minute of the said video overlaying against the Viktor who was performing in front of them.

Viktor had uploaded it about six years ago, when he still had long hair, and was recording everything on a fuzzy camera.

It was beautiful then, as it was beautiful now.

Yuuri could feel his legs tingling, the choreography so familiar to him that he could do it without music and with eyes closed. He knew what Viktor was going to do next, where his feet would go, when his hands would raise. He knew when the violin came in to accompany the lonely piano, the music as elegant and fluid as the dance itself.

It was Yuuri’s favourite.

The sound of incessant clapping filled the room, interrupting the haze Yuuri unconsciously found himself in. Viktor was smiling at them, confident and accepting of the flattery.

“Now, that’s done.” He grinned. “Why don’t we all try?”

-

Oh, right. There’s an ongoing list for Yuuri’s shitty first day, wasn’t there?

Let’s add another, _e.) when his group of three were asked to perform the choreography, Yuuri did horribly._

It was normal for someone to make a several mistakes during a run-though. Unless you’ve got a photographic memory, you were bound to forget certain steps in a new routine. And though Yuuri never fell on his face, he knew for a fact that he was doing so badly it would make Minako-sensei’s eight-year-old students cringe. He missed cues, landed inelegantly, went into an attitude instead of an arabesque, all that and yadda yadda yadda.

He _screwed_ up, that’s what it is.

Viktor was visibly frowning as he watched, sometimes cringing, his eyebrows drawn together like he was wondering how the fuck Yuuri managed to get himself into Julliard. He’s probably wondering if Yuuri went down on his knees and gave someone a blowjob just to get accepted. His classmates didn’t say anything about it, but it was possible that they were thinking the same thing.

“Are you okay?” Sara Crispino asked him, as they stepped aside and went to sit on the floor again.

Yuuri sighed and shrugged.

It continued on for the rest of forty-five minutes. Viktor still looked contemplative but at least he wasn’t cringing too often. Someone did fall on his ass but laughed it off, so it wasn’t a big deal. The others began to whisper praises to the ones currently performing, which made Yuuri feel a lot worse than before.

Jesus, he needed that proverbial rock to crawl under.

After everyone was done, Viktor called them to fall in line again, leading the cool down exercises for another fifteen minutes. Yuuri was mechanically following Leo’s movements in front of him, unable to look at his instructor, and went on with it until they were done.

Viktor called out some quick instructions as everyone was beginning to leave, which Yuuri wasn’t paying it much attention to, as he was in a desperate hurry to get out of the studio as fast as he could. When he was almost out the door, he heard Viktor call to him.

“Yuuri,” he said. “Come over here for a second.”

He visibly swallowed, eyes closing, and turned on his heel back to Viktor. Some of his classmates were looking at him with what appeared to be of pity, and Yuuri could very much understand why.

Was it possible to be kicked out of school on your first day? Did Julliard kick out incompetent students? Or was he about to start dying on the inside, because Viktor was going to call him out from choking so hard?

“Yes?” He said, stopping a few feet away from Viktor, unable to look at him.

Viktor was silent for a while.

Panicking a little, Yuuri looked up and.. well, he found the other to be deep in thought, one hand on his hip and the other on his chin.

“You know, I was watching you while I was giving instructions on the choreography...”

Oh, here we go.

“...and I noticed that you seem to be very familiar with it.”

Yuuri blinked. “Huh?”

“I was telling you guys what to do and it looked like you already knew,” he continued on, stepped closer, but not close enough to have Yuuri fainting right then and there. “Tell me, Yuuri. Are you familiar with the choreography?”

“Uh—” Say something say something say something say, “Kind of?”

Fuck.

Viktor’s eyes widened to a fraction, and he looked...fascinated? “ _Thought so_. I was wondering how you managed to make as many mistakes as you did.”

His eyes were so blue. Blue like open skies. You could write a whole sonnet from how blue it was—wait, was Yuuri supposed to respond?

“Do you have a class after this?”

“No?”

“Me too. This studio is also free for the next hour,” he said, eyes wandering around. “Could you show me how you would’ve danced to the piece if no one were here?”

How.

Why.

Why was this happening to him.

“How?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“There’s two of us, so how could I dance like I’m alone?” Yuuri had said it out loud before he realized how stupid he sounded.

Dear god.

That earned him a chuckle, a very familiar one, Viktor’s voice low and reverberating (and sexy). Sweet Jesus.

“You’re adorable,” Viktor smiled.

 _Adorable_ —what?

“If it helps, you can close your eyes? Pretend I’m not here?”

Yuuri instinctively swallowed.

How is it possible to sweat this much with the air conditioning blasting at full power? And why was his throat dry? Viktor was looking at him too long. Was there something on his face? Maybe—shit—maybe Yuuri was drooling?

“Can you do it?” Viktor’s eyebrows were raised, anticipating an answer.

“Okay?”

Viktor smiled widely, evidently pleased by the answer. He stepped away, back to the corner where the speakers were, and picked up his phone. “Tell me when to start the music.”

Well.

It’s not like he could do much else. Viktor was probably giving him the chance to redeem himself. No matter how deluded and flattered Yuuri felt at that moment, Viktor was still his teacher, and if this was being offered to him after class it’s probably something like an extra credit work. He shouldn’t blow it this time.

Maybe.

Yuuri allowed himself to let out a steadying breath. “Um, can I do it without music?”

This made Viktor look noticeably curious, but he didn’t ask. “Sure,” he said, setting his phone down. “Whenever you’re ready.”

With a nod, Yuuri stepped into the centre of the room, pointing his toes and flexing his ankles repeatedly before going into the starting position. He closed his eyes, like Viktor advised, and began to move.

Yuuri knew this piece for years. He’s done it multiple times, did warm-ups using the same moves, muscle memory taking over from there.

He found that if he let his mind go blank, if he pushed his thoughts away and left it all to his body, he could still do it. He knew when to leap into a grand jeté, what followed each and every pirouette, and knew the difference between an attitude and an arabesque.

With no music nor crowd, Yuuri danced like that, mind peaceful and solid black.

The last step, the tour en l’air, was something he couldn’t quite perfect—especially when his nerves got to him.

But no one’s around him now, there was no audience, there was no music. He launched himself, turning mid-air, and landed light on his feet.

Done.

He was done.

He couldn’t remember what he did in the middle of it, but he managed to finish it somehow.

Breathing still laboured, Yuuri slumped and steadied himself on his knees, inelegant and frankly emotionally exhausted. Who would have thought dancing for two minutes could be this tiring?

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and the next thing he knew, fingers were on his chin and his face was being lifted.

“Don’t slouch like that,” Viktor ordered, voice low and clear, and eyes soft. “You should never do that, not after delivering such masterful performance.”

Yuuri wasn’t too sure why he hadn’t fainted yet.

Viktor was so, so close. He was bent over, just a little, face level with Yuuri’s and only inches away from him. Yuuri could smell his cologne, nothing too strong or too sweet, but maybe it was just his sweat—and oh god why was he thinking stuff like that this is not the time...

“I saw your audition footage, Yuuri.”

“Hah?”

“I went through the audition tapes. They record it, you know. For future reference.” He was almost...whispering. Yuuri’s watched at least 36 hours worth of Viktor’s vlogs and interviews, but he never heard it like this. He never thought Viktor’s voice could sound so wonderfully soothing when it dropped like that. “Now you understand why I looked so bothered when you performed earlier.”

Yuuri didn’t say something as much as he grunted an incoherent huff.

“Why don’t you come in at six sharp tomorrow?” Viktor said, his hand lowering from where it touched Yuuri. “So you could get used to the studio and be more comfortable performing. How does that sound?”

Terrifying.

“I don’t have keys.”

Lame excuse.

Viktor snorted. “I’ll be here. So?”

“Uh—okay?”

Viktor shot up straight and clapped his hands. “Wonderful! See you tomorrow?”

“Okay?”

Viktor winked at him again, face pretty, and Yuuri almost fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMU [@paperclipper](https://paperclipper.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	2. Day 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holla! I took a month-long break to try to put my life together and adopt a new puppy! I'm sorry for those waiting for this to be updated. The updates won't come as slow since I'm basically back on track. ;)
> 
> Also! I did ballet maybe a few years back but I wasn't too familiar with how the danseurs (male dancers) went about. I come from a town where boys didn't really go to ballet classes? I'm sure you get what I mean (sadly). So if I wrote something that's innacurate or downright offensive, do correct me! <3

Yuuri had to forcefully drag his ass out of the door the next morning. Literally; like, he fell on his ass but his backpack was too heavy, so he had gotten up in the most awkward way possible. His nerves were swallowing him whole and he was considering not coming in early like he agreed to.  


He hadn’t given it much thought the day before that, as he moved from class to class, overwhelmed by the instructors that ranged from demure and quirky to talented but crazy. Lunch wasn’t that at all exciting, finding himself dragged around by Leo—who met Phichit and they were now ruining his life permanently—and found out that it was a chaotic wherever school you went to. But all of it had been good for him, distracting him.  


As the day went on, it began to dawn on him—that he would be trapped in a studio with Viktor again—and it really wasn’t the best scenario to be in if he wanted to stay conscious or eloquent or sane. That anxiousness followed him to bed, at breakfast, and even as he was tying his shoelaces. He really, really wanted to just ditch and pretend there was traffic or he just happened to sleep in a few minutes too much.  


In the end, his neuroticism won over.  


That was a decision which he was currently reconsidering, since the first thing he saw as he opened the door was his beautiful dance instructor doing stretches.  


Nothing to worry about, right?  


Stretching was a normal thing, it really is, except Viktor Nikiforov was _bending over_ with his ass up in the air and his grey shirt riding up to show pale skin and holy mother fucking shit—  


“Yuuri! You came!”  


Yuuri blinked.  


“Did you rush to get here?” Viktor didn’t straighten up or anything like that, he was literally talking to Yuuri with his head in between his legs. “I wouldn’t have minded if you came in a bit late.”  


“No, it’s okay. Not really.” Yuuri sputtered, noticing for the first time the his face was wet with sweat. He had been running to get there, and although he had gotten up early, his internal crisis held him off from actually stepping outside.  


Viktor’s eyebrows were raised, expressive though his face was upside down. “Well, feel free to do floor stretches.”  


Yuuri nodded and skittered away, adjusting his battered ballet shoes before deciding to do his own business on the floor.  


No matter how nerve-wracking the prospect had been, Yuuri had to admit that Viktor was right. He was so used to having a whole studio to himself for years, careful and free under Minako’s watchful eye, that he had become uncomfortable sharing one with a lot of people.  


He proceeded with the usual splits, arms reaching forward, fingers lightly touching the floor. He felt the familiar burn of his muscles warming up to the stretches, his thighs growing less stiff by the minute. He felt himself relax, growing accustomed to the space all around him.  


That was, until he looked up.  


“How old are you again?”  


Yuuri jumped when he saw Viktor crouching in front of him, his chin tucked on an elegant hand. He was looking at Yuuri with interested eyes, his posture casual but with an air of confidence common in that of a dancer, and Yuuri was sure as hell he was about to have the first regular heart attack for the day.  


“Eighteen?” Yuuri replied, feeling stupid for sounding unsure.  


There was this weird moment where Viktor’s eyes flared momentarily, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “You’re pretty flexible for your age,” he said, though it sounded more like a statement of fact than a compliment. “How long have you been dancing?”  


“Since I was seven, I think,” he said.  


“You think?”  


“Since I was seven,” Yuuri repeated.  


Viktor’s lips quirked into a soft smile. “There we go. You should be a lot more certain when answering those kinds of questions, you know. Otherwise, you’re future company director will eat you alive.”  


“I don’t think—” His eyebrows furrowed. “Well, I’m not sure if I’ll get in. And besides, that’s something I have to worry about in the future.”  


“I got offers to join dance companies a year before I graduated.”  


“Well, you’re...you, I guess,” Yuuri blurted out before he could think about it. “It’s not that it’s bad! I mean, you’ve always been great and I think you deserve it and stuff...and, er—”  


Wow.  


Great.  


Now Yuuri practically admitted to being a crazy fan.  


Nice.  


Not creepy at all.  


Viktor just stared, blinking. Yuuri couldn’t figure out if it were out of shock or disgust. “You really think you couldn’t make it?”  


“Hah?”  


“Nothing,” Viktor waved at him dismissively, although he still looked rather contemplative. “Finish up with your stretches. And if we have the time, I want you to run yesterday’s piece for me. Is that alright?”  


It was not alright.  


But Yuuri didn’t have the heart to say no.  


-  


> **_Hypothetical Situation No. 1_ : Your (hot) dance instructor is helping you out with proper form. Which means he is touching you. Which means he is standing so close.**  
> 
> 
> **Q: What do you do?**  
> 
> 
> a.) Try to imagine none of it was happening.  
>  b.) Accept the fact that it is happening but try not to look too overwhelmed.  
>  c.) Try to actually fix your form so the said instructor doesn’t have to bother with helping your sorry ass.  
>  d.) Look straight into his blue, blue eyes.  
> 

-  


Option d.), although the least wise, seemed to be what Yuuri ended up doing.  


It was fine at first. He ran through the piece as he did the day before, but at the moment he was more conscious of Viktor watching him that his lungs wouldn’t function like they should. That was bad. Dancers needed strong lungs to finish a freaking routine. He was heaving after executing a short routine, finding it hard to properly jump or position his body in ways that it should be.  


“I’m sorry,” Yuuri hunched over, his hands balanced on his knees, breathing heavily. “Can I run it again—”  


“You’re too stiff here,” Viktor pressed his palm against Yuuri’s abdomen, his fingers splayed lightly on the material of his shirt. It was a natural gesture, something a ballet instructor might do when giving instructions...but heaven help Yuuri, he’s feeling a heart attack coming. “Ballet is an art form, Yuuri. It’s about appearances and smooth transitions. I really don’t want to cheapen the craft by reducing it to those, but that’s the truth. You know that, don’t you?”  


His hand was still there.  


Shit.  


“Y—yeah,” Yuuri replied. “Um.”  


“I saw you move to the music like it was made for you, not the other way around,” Viktor’s tone had dropped to an octave, he was so close that Yuuri could feel his breath against his cheeks, hot and distracting and Yuuri was being neurotic as fuck. “Can you do that for me, Yuuri?”  


Yuuri swallowed the lump in his throat, one that had formed since he stepped inside the studio. “I’ll try.”  


“Don’t ‘try’,” Viktor frowned. “I know you could, so do it.”  


Finally, Viktor stepped away and proceeded to cross his arms in front of his chest. “Arabesque, Yuuri. Please.”  


Sighing, Yuuri balanced himself on one foot and flexed the other, slowly lifting his free leg behind him. He could feel a light strain on his hips and thighs, where the muscles exerting the most effort were, but he had years of practice that he could hold that position for a long time.  


“Gorgeous,” Viktor smiled.  


Wait, what.  


Yuuri could feel his face beginning to heat up. It should be obvious by now how he’s flushed red, but he was moving the whole time, so maybe Viktor was going to think it was from the exertion? He wondered if it were possible to hear white noise all of the sudden, or if he was just hallucinating it.  


“Let’s run it one more time, then you’ll rest, _da_?”  


-  


Yuuri did better than his first day. That pattern seemed to go on up until the end of the first week, which was somewhat a relief. He wasn’t catching anyone’s attention, of course, but it was better than getting noticed for making mistakes at every turn. So there’s that.  


“You look like you’re ready to drop,” Phichit threw a French fry at him to catch his attention.  


It was Friday, and Yuuri could almost taste the weekend spent in his room, rolling around the sheets and doing nothing. He was exhausted, physically and psychologically, and it was a surprise to him how he’d managed to survive the first week at all.  


Impatient, Phichit passed a hand across Yuuri’s face. “Hello? Are you okay?”  


“Huh?” Yuuri looked up at Phichit, his own food untouched. “Oh yeah. I’m okay. I’ve been coming to class early, that’s all.”  


A stupid grin began to form on Phichit’s face. “You don’t sound sorry.”  


“In fact, I am,” he groaned. “I’ve been running through dance pieces even before classes begin. I try to tell him I’d be exhausted afterwards, but Viktor doesn’t seem to get it—”  


“Wait, what?”  


“What?”  


“Repeat what you said.”  


“I’ve been running through dance routines before class.”  


Phichit frowned. “No, the other one.”  


“What?” Yuuri tried to pretend he didn't understand, because  _of course_ Phichit caught what he said. And now, he wasn't going to let it go.  


“Did you just say Viktor’s been helping you out or something?”  


“He’s not—well, technically he is. But it’s not like he had anything better to do.”  


Yuuri waved a hand as if to punctuate, ‘it’s not a big deal’, but Phichit wasn’t normally the kind of person you wanted to go to if you needed a clear mind.  


“So he’s helping you,” he said. Declarative.  


“Sort of.”  


“He’s helping you with form and shit?” Phichit kept digging at his mountain of fries like popcorn, clearly looking entertained. “Like, he repositions your arm and stuff?”  


Yuuri could feel his eyebrows drawing together. He did not like where this conversation was going. “Isn’t that what teachers do?”  


“Well, yes, but—”  


“So there you have it, Phichit.”  


“Noooooooooo? He’s touching you?”  


He almost choked on his water. “Why?”  


“And he only does that to you and nobody else?”  


“Well, I needed more help because I suck—”  


Phichit threw another greasy fry toward Yuuri’s direction. “Dense.”  


Were the French fries dense? Not at all—  


“I said you were dense,” Phichit said, throwing another fry at Yuuri. “Honey, this is why you never get laid.”  


Yuuri felt his face heat up again. “Phichit. I’m not looking for...getting laid?”  


“Of course, you aren’t,” Phichit snorted. “If your wall decorations are anything to go by, I’m pretty sure anyone else wouldn’t meet your standards.”  


Yuuri had a few posters of Viktor Nikiforov, that’s true. Denying it would only make him sound stupid, but that didn’t mean he had lifelong fantasies and was jerking to it every night.  


Nope.  


Not at all.  


He wasn’t doing that to any of Viktor’s vlogs either.  


Not even the one where he was talking to the camera while submerged in a Jacuzzi.  


“Yuuri,” Phichit whined, like a spoiled cat. “You’re hiding something from me.”  


“I am not.”  


He was responded by a pout.  


“I am not hiding anything from you,” Yuuri spoke slowly, as if addressing at ten-year-old. “I come in early and Viktor just so happens to be there. He’s a dance instructor, Phichit. I don’t think there’s anything to it other than that.”  


Phichit was quiet for while—which was a miracle in itself, because Phichit Chulanont was not one to stop talking—and then, his eyes lit up mischievously.  


“Let’s bet on it.”  


“No.”  


“A harmless one—”  


“No.”  


“I won’t stop talking...”  


“I don’t care.”  


“You really should, because there’s this one guy I met at a club, okay? He was hot so I was like, ‘fuck it’, and I came home with him. You know how people have expectations of how big dicks are based on—”  


Yuuri flailed and covered his ears. “Oh my god.”  


“—so I just went at it, pulled his pants down—”  


“What do you want?”  


That was that, apparently.  


Phichit smiled again, dangerously suspicious as if he had already worked everything out in his head. “Okay, I bet that Viktor doesn’t touch anyone but you.”  


“That’s ridiculous.”  


“If I’m being ridiculous then there’s nothing to lose,” he shrugged. “In fact, if I lose the bet, I’ll delete my blackmail folder.”  


Yuuri’s jaw went slack. He’d seen it. He knew what it was about. Phichit wasn't just talking about a 'blackmail folder’, it’s _The_  Blackmail Folder.

It had at least fifty embarrassing photos of Yuuri, enough to stop him from getting a decent job in the future if they got out.  


“So?” Phichit smiled.  


“What do I do if I lose?”  


“You’ll ask Viktor on a date.”  


What.  


“He’s a teacher, Phichit!”  


Phichit wiggled an index finger in front of him, adamant. “A _guest instructor_. He’s only here for two weeks, remember? You can ask him then.”  


“I—” Yuuri, in between disbelief and full-on embarrassment, didn’t know what to do except bury his face in his hands. “Fine. Only because I think it’s stupid.”  


“It’s not.”  


“But, hypothetically, if you win—”  


“I’m pretty sure it’s a ‘ _when_ ’ and not an ‘ _if_ ’.”  


“ _If_ you win, I’ll have to ask him out. And then he’ll say no. Do you plan on embarrassing me?”  


“I’m pretty sure he won’t say no,” Phichit raised his hand to silence Yuuri. “But you’re confident you’ll win, right? That this thing’s just stupid? So why are you worrying about that?”  


Okay, that was true, but what if Viktor caught the flu and intentionally didn’t touch anyone else? What if he’d be so frustrated at Yuuri in the morning and decide to give up on teaching anyone altogether? What if he had a bad week and turned sour and basically ignore everyone else?  


Was that possible? The universe hated Yuuri, so he thought it wouldn’t be so far off.  


Maybe he’ll pray to the moon gods every night?  


Phichit’s restrained laugher could be heard from across the table. “Oh, do I see someone panicking?”  


Yuuri decided to smear ketchup on his face.  


-  


A few hours into the week and Yuuri was beginning to think he had somehow developed hyperawareness to anything and everything Viktor did around him.  


He still went to class a little earlier than his classmates, doing his usual stretches while trying (and miserably failing) to ignore Viktor’s presence in the room. The usual stuff they did in the morning had also progressed to making small talk, which Yuuri was never a fan of, but it wasn’t like he had much choice.  


Surely, it would be rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you?  


“How long have you been living in New York?” Viktor had asked him. He was seated on the table from across the room, from time to time, he’d notice Yuuri doing something wrong and would casually correct him. “Point your toes.”  


“About a year and a half now,” Yuuri responded, thankfully distracted by the minimal strain on his ankles. “Minako-sensei said it’d be best if I learned to pick up on the slang.”  


“Minako?”  


“My instructor.”  


Yuuri never thought it was a big deal up until he saw the amazement on Viktor’s face.  


“Does it happen to be Okukawa Minako?”  


“Yes?”  


Viktor, who was graceful as ever—because, let’s be honest, Viktor could do no wrong—quickly masked his amazement with a fond smile.

“No wonder you move like that, then.” He got up from where he sat, moved over to Yuuri, and crouched down to look at him. “I want you to try something. You don’t have to do it now, or perform it in front of the class. Although, that would be a great idea—” Viktor must have seen the horror on Yuuri’s face, because he was quick to shake his head. “No performing in front of the class, then! Just a song, Yuuri. It’ll be your homework.”  


“But—”  


Well, it did make sense. Yuuri needed to work harder than anyone to keep up, so it would make sense for him to get extra assignments. He wasn’t complaining, but that didn’t mean his nervousness metre hadn’t hit its all time high.  


“You’ll show me on our last day of class together, this Friday,” Viktor said, awfully cheery. “Before anyone else comes in, of course.”  


-  


Three days into the week, Yuuri was beginning to suspect it was Phichit’s life mission to ruin his day.  


“So? How was it?” Phichit walked alongside him, carrying a thick stack of notebooks under one arm.  


Yuuri’s been getting bits of history and theory in his classes too, but it was more of a random ‘did you know?’ trivia than an actual lecture. He knew Phichit was sitting through lectures and was getting a lot of reading assignments, where Yuuri often didn’t. He was told how the art of dancing could never be written down or fully expressed on a piece of paper.  


Or in Lilia Baranovskaya’s poetic way, it would go something like, “ _Dance is a language without words. Speak to your audience like they are the jury of an unfair court. If you falter, they’re going to reject you without batting an eye_.”  


Music and Arts School was weird.  


“Yuuri, did you hear me?” Phichit nudged him by the arm. “How was it?”  


“How was what?”  


“Did you see him come up to ‘help’ anyone else?”  


Yuuri would have said something to derail the conversation, maybe punch Phichit in the face if he found himself to have lost his voice, but he was too busy thinking.  


He clearly didn’t mean to pause from the conversation, not all of the sudden like he did, but then a weird thought came to him. It was like viewing the last three days on a projected image on a wall—it played at the back of his mind, too fast for him to comprehend sometimes, and faster still when he was trying to look for something.  


His silence, was apparently a good enough answer.  


Phichit clapped his hand slowly. “Bless, clairvoyant Phichit,” he mused. “I was right all along.”  


“You are not.”  


“If you hadn’t paused and reprogrammed yourself in disbelief, I wouldn’t I have thought so,” Phichit grinned. “But you’re still trying to remember whether he came up to someone else, aren’t you?”  


Yuuri frowned at him.  


“See?”  


“My memory is betraying me,” Yuuri muttered.  


Just so it’s clear, Yuuri really hadn’t been paying much attention to the things that mattered because a.) _he got totally flustered each time his teacher came within a twelve inch radius of him (which happened a lot)_ , b.) _he was too busy trying not to fall during the actual classes_ , and c.) _Yuuri had a one-track mind of an idiot that could only save digital copies of Viktor just standing in one corner for ten whole minutes_.  


“You’re memory isn’t betraying you,” Phichit frowned. “You’re just in denial. What’s the five stages of grief again? Maybe you’ll get over it soon enough—not that you’re grieving.”  


“Shut up,” he said. “You’d say the same thing even if you were there, which you weren’t—”  


Phichit looked to him sharply, slyly. “I have eyes and ears, Katsuki.”  


“Who?”  


He had to think about it for a moment before someone’s face flashed behind his eyes, smirking like a haunting nightmare.  


“I’m murdering Leo De La Inglesia, god bless his soul,” Yuuri rubbed his eyes. “Phichit, let’s go get something to eat, yes? I’m hungry—”  


“Yuuri!”  


If Yuuri hadn’t already known who it was (he’s heard that voice far too many times not to know), Phichit’s expression gave it away. His friend looked like he was looking at Jesus Christ walking on water, or he’d gotten an early pass for Black Friday sale.  


Yuuri turned to see Viktor jogging up to them, waving at them casually.  


As he neared, Yuuri noticed that he was holding an unlabelled CD inside a clear casing. “You left so early!” Viktor said, his lower lips closely resembling an adorable pout. But Yuuri could be imagining that. “Here’s the piece I wanted you to work on. If you’re familiar with Agape, I’m sure this will be easy, _da_?”  


Viktor spoke in Russian oh my god oh my god oh my god.  


Yuuri stared at the CD in disbelief. “Uh—thank you?”  


Viktor grinned, handing the said CD to him. His eyes then found Phichit, which widened a little, as if noticing Yuuri’s companion for the first time. “Oh, hello. Are you a dance student, too?”  


Phichit happily waved his notebooks around. “Playwriting,” he smiled up at Viktor, clearly up to something— “And no, I’m not Yuuri’s boyfriend. It’s a common mistake, but my friend right here is as single as any sad adult could be.”  


Yuuri could almost hear the music for _Who Wants to Be a Millionaire_ inside his head.  


> **Q: Your friend did something to embarrass you in front of your long-time idol/crush/instructor. What do you do?**  
> 

“Phichit!” Yuuri hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.  


“What? It’s true,” Phichit shrugged, and then he looked to Viktor.  


Yuuri almost apologized—but what for? Seriously, the situation couldn’t have been more awkward, and he was hoping that the moon gods struck him down and took him to whatever hellish place they resided in.  


Viktor, however, looked amused.  


“That’s good to know,” he said, winking.  


-  


“Yuuri, we’re up next!”  


It took a while before Yuuri noticed that Sara Crispino was talking to him, too immersed in last night’s musings of how to fucking dance to the piece Viktor had given him.  


He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “Hmmm?”  


“We’re up next,” she said to him, smiling. He violet eyes were lovelier with the sunlight reflecting against them. “I’m not too heavy for you, am I?”  


Yuuri shook his head. “Oh, no. Not at all!”  


Sara was kind enough to approach Yuuri when they were doing ballet in pairs. At first, he had been intimidated by her, what with her performing at a very young age thing and her brother a little too overprotective by common standards. He eventually discovered that she was nice, a little too humble, and he was thankful that he had the chance to work with someone patient enough to help him—although Yuuri had to thoroughly explain his sexuality to Michele Crispino at lunch.  


Michele didn’t seem to get what “ _I’m actually gay_ ” meant.  


“I’m sorry about Mickey the other day,” she whispered to him. “He really is nice, if you dug deep enough.”  


_As deep as the Marianas Trench, apparently_. But of course, Yuuri didn’t say that out loud. He didn’t want to lose that one classmate who seemed to genuinely like him despite of his constant fumbles. He was still a jittering mess during the run-throughs, which Sara was quick to notice, and so she made a habit of reassuring him or checking back to see if he was fine.  


“Oh, look! We’re up next!” Sara stood, dusting off the invisible dirt on her tights, and held out a hand for him. “ _Gamba_!”  


In the end, no matter how great Sara was as a partner, Yuuri’s performance was a so-so. Not bad, but not his best either—his instructor made sure to reaffirm it.  


Viktor had commented on something like not expressing the story of the song as it should have been. Yuuri understood what he meant by that, from one weird dedicated dancer to another, but he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to nail it. He knew the story being told through the movement, the music. It was as if he could see a low-resolution film play at the back of his eyelids, more prominent with the sound of music accompanying it. He’d executed the required steps, gave attention to his form, remembered to point his toes, but Viktor said there was still something missing.  


He wondered what that was.  


Sara was wonderful, of course. She expressed the strongest of emotions in the smallest of shifting movements, with each and every lift of her arms and legs, with the kind of grace that could only be done through years and years of patience and practice. Even Viktor had looked impressed.  


“Don’t get swallowed up by Sara’s performance, Yuuri,” Viktor commented, standing on his usual corner, hand hovering over his phone. “She’s not the only one dancing, make sure your audience remembers that.”  


Yuuri started to feel bad about it, but then he realized it was a common problem among the male dancers. Viktor seemed to have the same commentary for everyone, reiterating what he said multiple times, sometimes giving instructions on the flow of things.  


He never did swoop in to help with the positioning, though.  


But Yuuri wasn’t supposed to think about that at the moment.  


“The reason why you don’t find danseurs memorable is because they usually blend into the background. People like watching the ballerina move, and even more attention is given to her with the added lifts,” Viktor spoke to the class, confident and refined, eyes bright and positive. “Not that the girls should take fault in it, but it is what it is.”  


Which was true. In any form of dance done in pairs, the male dancer was the one who’s more likely to underdress, less likely to be the subject of the photographs, less likely to catch attention—just steady partners to the girl who would inevitably steal the show—but that was never the case for Viktor Nikiforov.  


He had gone on to perform in various shows, stages, exhibitions; and still stood out despite wearing the simplest of costumes, in muted colours in comparison to his partners, even with his long hair pulled tightly behind his head. The ballet was a difficult one to survive in itself, harder still when you didn’t manage to stand out and be forever kept to the side lines.  


Yuuri had always admired him, even before he realized that Viktor was pretty, and had found him beautiful in the way that he moved.  


“You’re going to have to fix that,” Viktor said, contemplative for a moment, and then he flashed a smile. “But isn’t that why you’re here?”  


And of course, since the moon gods hated Yuuri so much, he got asked to stay after class.  


It was the first time since the first day, which made it all the more alarming. Yuuri thought he was doing fine all this time. Oh god...was his performance that bad after all? He thought he was okay, not standing out, but it was okay. Was he okay?  


In fact, the other guys got the same feedback, so why—  


“You have that face,” Viktor interrupted his whirlwind of thoughts, smiling up at Yuuri from across the room. “You have that face when you’re worrying too much.”  


Yuuri couldn’t find it in him to speak.  


“You’re used to dancing _en pointe_.”  


This caught Yuuri’s attention. “How did you know?”  


“I can see the way your feet move,” Viktor shrugged, leaning against the barre casually, his shirt riding up again. Yuuri was beginning to think the universe was conspiring to make him faint in class. Or after class. Whatever. “I was wondering how you’d do if you danced the girl’s part.”  


“That’s,” Yuuri scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think that possible.”  


“Sure you can. You’ve always leaned towards the girls’ dancing.”  


“I don’t have a partner,” Yuuri frowned.  


Viktor appeared to be smiling, although that wasn’t unusual. Viktor always smiled. “You could try it with me.”  


Holy shit.  


“Um.”  


-  


> _**Hypothetical Situation No. 2** _ **: Your (hot) dance instructor asked you to dance with him.**
> 
> **Q: What do you do?**  
> 
> 
> a.) Pretend you’re having a terrible headache.  
>  b.) Feign injury.  
>  c.) Faint.  
>  d.) Actually agree to the crazy idea and risk a heart attack.  
> 

-  


“So?” Viktor removed himself from the barre, lightly kicking at the floor and flexing his ankles. “Do you want to see how you’ll do the other way?”  


Yuuri swallowed. “I’m not sure I could—”  


“I promise not to drop you.”  


Think. Think. Think. Think. Think.  


It’s for extra credit.  


Yes, that.  


It’s just that.  


Yuuri probably bombed the whole thing and Viktor was giving him a chance by holy shit why was he stepping into Yuuri’s personal space did he want him to faint on the spot?

“If you think I’ll just sit here and watch you underperform, you’re wrong. I know talent when I see it, Yuuri. And I really do hope it doesn’t go to waste,” Viktor whispered to him.  


He was so close so close so close.  


“I’ll do it,” Yuuri sputtered. “I mean, I’ll try. I’ll probably be as bad at it anyway, so um—I don’t know, can you start the music, maybe?”  


Looking strangely triumphant, Viktor pulled back. “Why don’t we try it without the music?”  


“No, it’s okay,” Yuuri reached for Viktor’s wrist without ever thinking about it, regretted it immediately, and pulled back as fast as he could. “Oh, god. Sorry. I mean, I like the music and it helps me—kind of imagine it, you know?”  


A small smile crept up Viktor’s face. What it all meant, however, Yuuri had yet to know. “Starting position, Yuuri.”  


-  


In all fairness, Viktor told him he did better after that. He also said something about being too nervous.  


Not that it wasn’t expected.  


-  


Somehow Yuuri wondered when he had died. He really wasn’t sure why the world did it to him, or why his visions were like this, or why fucking Enma Ai thought it was the best way to torture him on his way to the afterlife.  


(He’s been watching too many Hell Girl episodes, okay? So it’s only right to make metaphors of his life out of fucking Anime.)  


“Is that what you came up with?” Viktor asked, eyes contemplative, as he was looking at Yuuri’s shrinking form in the middle of the room. Either that or the room was swallowing Yuuri up, his reflection on the large mirrors mocking him like some bad horror movie.  


Yuuri heaved a sigh.  


He really didn’t know what to do with the piece. Isn’t it the kind of music people used in Modern Jazz? Something more upbeat than the usual sound of classical ballet?  


“I really—I’m sorry, it’s the best I could do—”  


“No, it isn’t,” Viktor cut him off, but instead of coming toward Yuuri as he normally would have, he stayed where he was perched on the table. His head was tilted just very slightly to the side, wondering, eyes inexplicably looking through Yuuri instead of at him. “And I’m not saying you’re inadequate, Yuuri. I’m saying you’re underperforming again.”  


“I—”  


“You’ve had eleven years with one of the best teachers and a natural talent to go with it, so why do you think you’re still underwhelming?”  


Okay, ouch.  


It’s not like Yuuri’s never been warned about this before, but ouch.  


Yuuri knew from the moment he played the damn CD that he wasn’t going to pull it off. Agape was fine, it was a piece he’d danced to for years trying to catch up to Viktor. It was one of those routines he could do with his eyes closed or without music. It was the kind of piece he could do while balancing plates. He could relate to it, loved it, and found himself shameless to say that it depicted who he was as a person.  


The new one Viktor gave him? Not so much.  


“Hey,” Viktor came up to him, finally, although a little too close. He touched his fingers to Yuuri’s chin, lifting his face, close enough that their noses almost touched. “The last thing I want to happen to you is for you to go silent and implode. You’re talented, okay? But you haven’t answered my question.”  


“Which one?” Yuuri blurted out.  


“Why do you think you constantly underperform?”  


There was no need to think about it. “Because I lack confidence.”  


“There we go,” Viktor sighed, smiling a little, but he didn’t step back.  


He stood there, close enough and warm and real, making Yuuri wonder if the purgatory was conflicted in either torturing him or rewarding him. Maybe it was the latter, maybe Yuuri did something tremendously good in his past life.  


“You’re the only one who could dig deep enough and find out what’s in here,” Viktor’s palm pressed against Yuuri’s chest. “And bring it out in the language of movement. Try to work on that at least, will you?”  


For the first time, Yuuri wanted the moment to last.  


It was yet another of those moments where he’d usually feel an oncoming heart-attack—it still was—but there was something about the way his mind was running too fast that day.  


It was Viktor’s last day as a guest instructor. Nobody knew when he’ll ever teach at Julliard again and it was certainly the last time Yuuri was ever going to see him in person. Yuuri wanted to be selfish for once, wanted to live the dream even if it wasn’t real.  


“Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice echoed through the hallow room, the sound rough with an accent but oh so familiar otherwise. “Can you promise me something?”  


“What’s that?”  


“That you show me one day,” Viktor whispered. “When you’re done polishing the choreography. Promise you’ll show me.”  


The sound of footsteps came from outside the hall.  


And as quickly as it came, the moment ended.  


-  


Yuuri was having coffee with Leo, Phichit, and Guang-Hong when it happened.  


It started with exhaustion. He had gone through maybe five classes that day, one of them involving Madame Lilia making them do endless exercises on the barre. Yuuri was used to a day’s work with Minako—and not to mention her levels of scary rivalled that of Lilia Baranovskaya—but he’s practiced so much in the last week that it made it all the more tiring.  


Hence, the coffee.  


It didn’t help that the other three were assaulting Yuuri with questions about J-pop, a lot of the bands Yuuri admittedly liked (but he wasn’t going to say that for the sake of his peace), and sometimes Leo would come in with a dance videos of K-pop or something like that.  


_Weebs._  


Yuuri was thinking to himself when Leo brought the conversation toward the uncomfortable.  


“So,” he said, setting his phone on the greasy table. “Yuuri’s asking someone out this weekend.”  


He spat out his coffee.  


“Hah?”  


Phichit, the little bastard, didn’t look all too surprised—he was, however, looking satisfied with himself. “Sounds like a good plan? Viktor still has his stuff at the staff room, right? He said he was getting out of campus at six, so we still have an hour...”  


Yuuri buried his face in his hands, as if it would cover him and slowly morph into the proverbial rock of shame he’d been seeking all week. “Why are you discussing this.”  


“Because you agreed to a bet and lost.”  


“It was rigged.”  


“You sound like a spoilsport,” Phichit muttered, humming something off-key. “Hey guys, do you think we should help out on the wardrobe? I mean, I know he’d totally hit you no matter how you look—”  


“Phichit.”  


“—but your taste in sweaters is abysmal.”  


“No.”  


Phichit ignored him completely. “Are sweaters a good idea, though?” he leaned over to Leo, who looked as interested in the ridiculousness of things as Phichit was. “Maybe a suit? Do you think it’ll make a good impression to just go all out and bring him to a restaurant?”  


Wait, they’re having this conversation already? They were? Well, fuck.  


“God, no. He’s used to that.” Leo winced. “Plus, it’s expensive. Maybe something more down-to-earth? Like a really nice pasta place or something? It screams ‘ _I’m not here for your money_ ’ and ‘ _I’m not social climbing_ ’, but at the same time, it gives off that intimate ‘ _welcome to my world_ ’ vibe.”  


“Great!” Phichit clapped his palms together, eyes sparkling. “And Yuuri’s got to make sure to wear really nice underwear too!”  


“Oh dear god.”  


“Please wear condoms, my dear. He's probably a clean-freak and prepares for the night like normal adults would on a hot date, but you really need to be careful—”  


“Anyway!” Guang-Hong didn’t let Phichit finish whatever horrible sentiment he was going to say.  


For a second, Yuuri felt undoubtedly grateful...until he wasn’t. He was confused.  


Actually, it was weird. The timing of it was weird. A second ago, the little shit Guang-Hong was also in on it, snickering alongside Leo as he was listening in, and suddenly he turned very bright red and—  


“Hello!”  


Oh.  


That explains it then.  


Yuuri made a mental note to buy Guang-Hong lunch sometime.  


“Ah, hi.” Yuuri smiled awkwardly, his hands cold as ice. He was worried a lot of things; i.e. did Viktor hear that awful conversation? Why was he there? Did he mean to get coffee because Yuuri totally stressed him out that morning? Was Yuuri going to have to kill Phichit tonight?  


“May I take a seat?” Viktor asked, gesturing at the tight space beside Yuuri on the booth.  


Yuuri apparently lost his tongue one way or another, because it was Phichit who answered for him, eyes gleaming and eyebrows raising into a look of smug knowing. “Yes, of course. Guang-Hong, it’s a bit of a squeeze there, yeah? Come sit with us instead.”  


-  


Yuuri found that it was not, as he had expected it to be, awkward as hell.  


Nerve-wracking, yes.  


But other than that? It was fine.  


There was no touching involved. Sometimes Viktor’s foot caught Yuuri’s under the table, but that was totally accidental, and he didn’t feel like his heart was running at full speed. Nope. Other than so, it was fine. He was getting through it, blessed by the buffer of his friends’ company.  


Yuuri guessed that it was a good thing he was friends with three interesting people, otherwise Viktor might have gone to sleep in the first ten minutes into the conversation about nothing.  


Phichit was good at talking about nothing, in fact.  


It was nice to know that even people like Viktor Nikiforov liked creeping around Reddit, or sometimes made fake accounts to troll the comments section on Youtube. He also wasn’t too concerned with his public image, doing whatever he liked and whenever he liked, though he was a celebrity in his own right.  


“Not really,” Viktor shrugged when Guang-Hong pointed this out. “There’s always a fan base if you’re lucky enough to get your name out there, sure. But I liked that the paparazzi don’t follow me as much compared to movie stars. That’s just a whole lot of trouble I don’t want.”  


Which was...a nice thought, actually.  


Yuuri, was in fact, fascinated. Not in love, because that’s just creepy as hell.  


-  


It was nearly eight in the evening before any of them noticed the time. Phichit, who was still talking about his hamsters and his secret love for figure skating, surely didn’t.  


Surprisingly, as did Yuuri, who enjoyed listening to the conversation more than he was joining, but it was funny and he was laughing. Sometimes Phichit or Leo would try to include him, get him to say something, and he’d comply with a four-word answer and go straight back to just listening.  


After leaving the furious bartender a hefty tip, they all walked out the door and shrugged on their jackets. September wasn’t too cold, not yet anyway, but it rained in New York so often it was best to have something on you just in case it happened.  


And then—  


“It’s that time, already?” Viktor was checking the time on his phone, raising his eyebrows at it before looking to the lot of them. “Did you guys want to grab dinner?”  


And then, there was silence.  


Yuuri knew many things happened in that quick moment of indecision. He knew Phichit was elbowing Leo and Guang-Hong, and that the two others were in agreement with him though they never said it out loud. Something was happening, something terrible and unspoken, and Yuuri wasn’t in on it.  


Finally, Phichit cursed.  


“Shit!” he was looking at Viktor, years and years of drama classes taking over his expression. “Did I leave the stove on?”  


Yuuri frowned. “Hah?”  


Guang-Hong pulled out his phone, browsing through his messages. “My mom’s furious.”  


“Mine, too.” Leo grumbled, and then looked to Viktor with a very convincing look of regret. “We’re sorry, looks like you only get Yuuri tonight.”  


Yuuri tried to backtrack for a proper excuse. “I’m not—”  


“He doesn’t mind joining you for dinner without us,” Phichit grinned happily, already slipping past Yuuri and preparing to jog away. “I need to go! Enjoy!”  


Guang-Hong and Leo took this as a 'go' signal as well, and started to leave.  


And...Yuuri did not have the time to sort his reactions for an appropriate one because _what that fuck_?  


What.  


The.  


Fuck.  


Indeed.  


“Ah, Phichit is a very good actor. I would have fallen for it if Guang-Hong didn’t mention his mom,” Viktor was visibly grinning under the light of the lamppost, eyes a darker shade of blue. He turned to Yuuri and the light caught a different angle, changing the way his eyes looked yet again.  


“I’m sorry?” Yuuri stammered.  


“Guang-Hong’s mom,” he said. “I happen to know she stays in Shanghai.”  


And because Yuuri’s brain wasn’t working, the only word (if you could call it that) that came out of him was an idiotic, “ _Oh._ ”  


Viktor didn’t seem fazed, he was smiling even, and shrugged. “So, what do you suggest?”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still deciding on the ratings. Hmmmm.
> 
> How was that, though?
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [@paperclipper](https://paperclipper.tumblr.com/)


	3. Date 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.  
> I know I promised ya'll that I'd be getting my shit together and I did. For some of you who's been with me since the beginning, you already know my laptop died and I was writing on a shitty bluetooth keyboard connected to a tablet. So I worked extra hours to get meself a proper laptop.
> 
> And here we are!

Einstein once said that time was relative to something else entirely. Or it was a preconceived notion that kept society intact. Or something like that. Yuuri didn’t even know where the hell he got that idea.

(He may or may not have watched a lot of _Steins Gate_. But that’s not the point here.)

But if he were to describe that night, one where he was stuck walking alongside Viktor in the busy streets of Manhattan, he’d probably put the equation to an actual minute feeling like it was happening in months.

He wondered which way was the right way to walk, to talk, to move; he wondered if he was standing too close or too far away; kept thinking about the things he could talk to Viktor about or if he just needed to listen to him blabber on and get the night over with. All the five minutes of walking that they had been doing felt like a very, very long time, but Yuuri was pretty sure it was just him and everyone else was doing absolutely fine.

“Ah, here we are,” Viktor said.

Which was bad because whatever laws on relativity had now been turned up to a hyper-drive, and Yuuri didn’t know how to handle the situation (or made sense of what Viktor had just said).

It took an embarrassingly long moment before Yuuri recovered, which had now put him in a position where Viktor was looking at him curiously.“We’re here. The restaurant you suggested.”

Yuuri looked up to see the neon sign hovering above their heads in a harsh yellow light, electricity humming faintly as they drew near it.

When Viktor asked about recommendations, Yuuri had almost said, ‘ _why don’t you pick something out?_ ’, but not before Viktor mused, ‘ _why don’t you introduce me to some interesting diners? It’s been a long time since I went out for something to eat._ ’

Because of course, Viktor was the type to cook at home or had food delivered (from the posh restaurants, not the crappy Chinese food Yuuri orders from a few blocks away).

He was so close to telling Viktor that in New York, the definition of ‘interesting diners’ ranged from the usual pretentious but classy hipster coffee shops to food trucks that sold fried Kool-Aids (and yes, that was years ago when it became a thing, but fried Kool-Aids are still a thing).

Yuuri, in his desperate attempt to not look like an idiot, had suggested a place called ‘ _Grease_ ’.

The restaurant he suggested still had that pretentious, underground, New Yorker vibe about it, but they had really good food on the menu—if you ignored anything that had blue cheese in it, of course.

Viktor’s hand automatically went to the door, it’s rusty hinges creaking when he pushed it open, revealing a dimly-lit space that reminded Yuuri of a drug den. It had several decorative items covering the walls, like old car plates and a gas pump from the forties, vinyl records hung from the ceiling, and a fully functional (and dusty) jukebox was playing some old tune from the sixties. Yuuri wondered if the walls were intentionally painted to look rough and dirty or if they were indeed rough and dirty.

Or if it was just him noticing things for the first time because—well, Einstein’s rule of relativity and shit.

Yuuri almost apologized for his tacky taste in restaurants when Viktor whistled in amazement. “I went to some interesting places back in my day,” he said, “but I didn’t know _this_ existed.”

“Phichit likes to walk around and ends up finding the most ridiculous stuff,” Yuuri snorted, leading Viktor to one of the booths at the corner. Phichit usually liked sitting near the window, but Yuuri deemed it too dirty and _Jesus_ he’ll have to apologize to Viktor for getting his expensive-looking sweater dirty. “They also do slam poetry every Tuesdays and Saturdays, I think.”

“Have you ever gone?” Viktor asked, as he was waving for a waitress to come to their table.

The said waitress was wearing the same uniforms you would have seen them wear back in the sixties, yellows and reds, with a nice apron to go with it. Yuuri thought for a moment that the diner hadn’t updated their uniforms in years, but then again, this was hipster city—nobody liked cool things in hipster city.

Yuuri hummed. “I have. I suggest going to the Saturday events, though. That’s when people with actual writing talent come. Tuesdays are just for the drunks.”

“Maybe you’ll take me sometime, then.”

He was glad he wasn’t drinking anything, because it would have came back up in his shock.

Viktor laughed, looking over at the menu toward Yuuri. The menu was covering half of his face, but he had a smile that reached his eyes, and it brightened them even as they were shadowed.

He was definitely pretty.

A pretty flirt.

They had their orders listed down and carried on talking, mostly about how charming theme of the establishment was. Yuuri was mostly embarrassed by it, but Viktor was quick to reassure him that he liked it as much as anyone who’s never been to a place like that before.

So that was nice.

Well, some things were going on nicely, until—

“Tell me something about you,” Viktor said.

Yuuri knew that he had ran out of small talk, or any other interesting thing he could talk about—and the subject of himself was definitely _not_ interesting. If Yuuri had a bucket of small talk, he had been scraping at the bottom of it during their morning practices.

The reason why he found Phichit’s proposal to be extremely preposterous was mostly because he wouldn’t know what to do once he needed to socialize, let alone with Viktor of all people.

And...he hadn’t responded to Viktor in two minutes.

“Um,” Yuuri blinked. “I think you...know all that there is to know?”

He was responded by Viktor’s eyebrow quirking up.

“Really,” Yuuri sighed. “I’m normally bad at conversation, so I don’t really know what to talk about.”

He was not, if Champagne or anything stronger was involved, but Viktor didn’t have to know that bit.

Viktor leaned forward, elbows on the table.

It was very similar to how Viktor would have done it in front of a camera, chatting away about his day toward an audience who may or may not watch it several times (and may or may not include Yuuri himself), except it was real. “Would it make you uncomfortable if I just asked questions, then?”

Okay.

There we go.

A safe place to start.

Yuuri nodded quickly, more than he should maybe, because he felt like it was going to save him from embarrassing himself further.

And then, Viktor just decided to blurt out; “Are you seeing someone?”

-

 

 

> **_Hypothetical Situation No. 3_ : Your (hot) idol/crush/person you’re currently getting dinner with has now asked an extremely personal question that you do not normally answer in front of other people. It’s about dating, and you’re sure he doesn’t have my prior intentions but what the fuck...**
> 
> **Q: What do you say?**
> 
> a.) Jerking to you every night doesn’t help my dating life.
> 
> b.) Marry me.
> 
> c.) No comment.
> 
> d.) I’m afraid to say anything because I might accidentally embarrass myself in front of you.

-

He didn’t say option _d.)_ out loud, but Yuuri liked the idea of it. The part of his brain that formed automatic response did too, so he kept silent, if not squeaking a little from the suddenness of the question itself.

Viktor looked like he was having the time of his life. If he knew that this was some form of torture, Yuuri wouldn’t know, but he was surely enjoying it.

“A girlfriend?”

“Um...No?”

“You don’t like girls?”

Yuuri kept his mouth shut.

“Actually, I shouldn’t have asked. I already knew.” Viktor grinned. “Boyfriend, then?”

“No comment.”

An interested expression formed on his face. “Can I be honest with you, Yuuri?”

What the hell were you supposed to say to that?

“Alright.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed but—actually, I feel like you haven’t and your friends do and I was worried someone was going to report me to the school management or something...” Viktor trailed off, looking somewhat unsure.

Yuuri thought ‘somewhat’ because he never thought Viktor would ever be unsure about anything he did.

“...I’ve been throwing myself at you for the last two weeks.”

Um.

“You were?”

Viktor face palmed.

Oh shit. “I—”

“I’m not an instructor anymore, if that’s what worries you. So no complication there, right?” Viktor flashed him a grin, which had Yuuri thinking that he might not survive the night after all. “And I was hoping—if you’d allow me to—to maybe take you out on a date.”

Man, this purgatory sure is indulging him.

“That’s—” Say something nice something nice something nice something, “Okay, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Okay,” Yuuri allowed himself a heavy exhale, clearing his chest from a breath he held a few seconds too long. “Okay, you can take me on a...um...”

“On a date, Yuuri.” Viktor was still smiling, reaching over the table to Yuuri’s hand. Which surprisingly, was a gesture Yuuri wasn’t entirely opposed to. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, isn’t it? Did you have things to do?”

He did. “No, not really. No.”

“Alright,” Viktor’s smile widened, his grasp on Yuuri tightening just a little. “Let me walk you home after this?”

-

Phichit was, despite Yuuri’s ferocious denial, asking for ‘ _deets_ ’ on ‘getting laid’.

There wasn’t much to tell—Viktor walked him home  and said he’d pick Yuuri up at six in the evening the next day. Viktor did ask for his number though, and Yuuri wrote it down, because why the hell would you set up to meet someone without any way to contact them?

Viktor also texted him goodnight, which according to Phichit, wasn’t enough.

“Is that _really_ all of it?” Phichit whined, rolling around Yuuri’s bed like a needy cat. “I don’t believe you.”

Yuuri wasn’t too sure he’d tell him even if there was more.

If.

Not that he was hoping for it.

Not at all.

“I feel like you’re not gonna tell me anyway,” Phichit pouted, before he paused, looked at Yuuri up and down, and made a disgusted face. “Those pants are horrendous. Did you buy them in 2007?”

“Two months ago, I think.”

“Burn it,” Phichit demanded, crawling out of the bed to take over the dresser, shooing Yuuri away from it.

He began sifting through clutter of garments without really bothering to look at some, saying ‘it’s not the right color’ or ‘you simply do not wear puke yellow on a first date’ like any of them actually made any sense.

“Oh wow, you don’t plan on installing a fire place don’t you?”

“Why?”

“Because if your radiator broke, you’re good for the whole Winter,” he punctuated his point by picking up a light yellow shirt from Yuuri’s drawer. It looked absolutely fine. “Nope.” And picked up another one. “Nope.” Threw that one on the bed. “Nah.” Made a face. “Ew. Are you serious?”

Phichit began going through the drawers and tossing out stuff that looked alright, some Yuuri actually liked, but he didn’t say a word. They weren’t too expensive, so at least he wasn’t feeling too bad about it.

Actually, Yuuri’s thankful Phichit was there. Viktor didn’t exactly specify what he should be wearing, so all that was left to him, right?

Should he wear something casual? Would he be overdressed? Underdressed? Should he wear sneakers just in case they were going out to walk around or should he wear loafers just in case they end up in some kind of a fancy restaurant?

He’s dated before, as much as an openly gay teenager could; so he wasn’t that inexperienced as many assumed he was. He even liked some of them enough to put out, and as weird as it may sound, they weren’t all that...let’s just say, disappointed.

But you already knew why it was different this time.

Phichit threw something at him. “Try that,” he said, still digging through Yuuri’s drawers like an old garbage bin. “With these.”

Yuuri felt his nose involuntarily scrunch up. “All that digging for a white shirt?”

“No, it’s _the_ white shirt. It’s the white shirt I saw you audition in. It’s shaped right and hugs your body in the right places,” Phichit pointed a finger at the said shirt, and then toward a pair of jeans Yuuri hardly ever wore. “Those and these pants, Yuuri. And then wear that one pair of nice sneakers you have.”

“All my sneakers are nice.”

“Come on,” Phichit snorted. “It’s the Superstars and it’s the only good thing about your shoe taste.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and went fetch a new pair of sneakers he found himself using more often than the others.

The said pair of Adidas were actually a gift from Yuuko, some kind of going-away gift she gave him before he left for America. He didn’t even know they were a fashionable thing back then; up until he came to New York and was introduced to the weird wonders of Instagram.

“Go change,” Phichit pushed the clothes at him again, jerking his chin toward the bathroom door. “And we’ll see if you’re getting some dick tonight.”

-

 

> **_Hypothetical Situation No. 4_ : Viktor Nikiforov just straight out knocked on your shabby apartment door to take you out on a date. He looked absolutely gorgeous you could die. He’s also managed to obtain what appeared to be really pretty flowers that weren’t roses, but it doesn’t matter because he could have brought you dried grass and you’d cry over it wilting overnight.**
> 
> **Q: What’s the first thing you’re going to say?**
> 
> a.) Marry me.
> 
> b.) Marry me.
> 
> c.) Marry me.
> 
> b.) Marry me.

-

Yuuri didn’t know what he expected when he opened the door to see Viktor standing there.

He was gorgeous (as always) in a navy blue sweater that set off his eyes along with pants that weren’t too tight but slim-cut and flattering. Yuuri didn’t know much about shoes, but he always did like Viktor in sneakers.

“You ready to go?” he had asked, smiling.

And oh dear god Yuuri was going to have to keep his heart rate in check.

“I’ll put these away first?” Yuuri stammered. “I don’t want to ruin them while we’re out.”

Viktor had arrived much earlier than expected, so you could only imagine the horror on Phichit’s face when he deemed Yuuri’s hair to have not looked ‘quite right’. Phichit ended up combing through it with his fingers, kept them in place with some nice hair wax (definitely not Yuuri’s), and basically spritzed cologne all over him (again, not Yuuri’s).

After that, Phichit said something like, “I’ll do the clean up for you so you could take him home anytime”, ignoring the way Yuuri had turned into a blushing mess after. He also took one look at the posters of Viktor scattered everywhere and added, “the posters, too. They’ll be in your closet.”

And that was it.

That was how Yuuri found himself walking around the streets of Manhattan (again), listening to Viktor chatter on about what may be boring to some but definitely interesting to Yuuri (and a couple more of his stalking fans, a legion Yuuri was a part of).

“So how did it happen?” Viktor asked, walking alongside him, close enough that their shoulders were touching.

Sometimes Yuuri had wondered if that was indeed his reality, leaving him dazed at the thought of it. Although instead of breaking down, he found out that he could use his numbness to his advantage, allowing him to speak up like he normally would with other people.

“Oh, you mean how I got Minako-sensei to teach me?” Yuuri looked up at him. “Hasetsu’s a really small town. Everybody knows everything about everyone, so it wasn’t all that hard to have met her at some point. My mom and her went to school together, I think.”

Viktor looked somewhat curious. “Really? As in, anything about anyone?”

“You’re wondering if people knew I was gay,” Yuuri snorted.

“I—” Viktor looked surprised, then a bit guilty. “That’s not...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Yuuri smiled. “Of course, they knew. I got teased for it in school, just a bit, but it wasn’t horrible or something like that. And you?”

“I liked leotards and glitter,” Viktor shook his head and smiled. “It was either those or the long hair that gave it away.”

“Could be a European thing,” Yuuri tried.

And Viktor _laughed_.

He seriously hoped Viktor wasn’t doing it just because he was trying to be polite. If he was, then this so-called date night of theirs was going to turn into a snooze fest real fast.

“You started young, didn’t you?” Viktor asked suddenly.

“I don’t remember much,” Yuuri looked up the skies, turning orange as it neared evening. “I didn’t exactly know it’s boys that I liked until I hit puberty—” he laughed at the ridiculousness of what he was saying, but continued on anyway. It wasn’t like he could do any more damage to how awkward Viktor thought he was. “I had a crush on a girl once. She was nice and knew how to deal with me, but then I realized I only liked her for that, you know? Not—um...how do I say this...”

“You weren’t sexually attracted to her.”

Yuuri cringed. But that didn’t make it any less true. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Hmmmm,” Viktor smiled. “Nothing like good old teenage hormones to make you realize you’re gay.”

They ended up in front of a small lounge amongst the nicer streets. It wasn’t as shabby as the one where Yuuri brought him, with it’s brick walls and sharp accents, but it didn’t look too fancy either.

This might actually be fun.

“I hope you like karaoke, at least,” Viktor smiled at him, and opened the doors.

Inside, unlike the small little diner they went to, was quite huge.

The floors were varnished wood, spotless, the walls painted dark green, and the rest of the space furnished with white pieces and wooden accents. There was a bar near the front (Viktor assured him that none of them were going to get drunk) and on the far left was a platform with a group of people setting up instruments.

“We’re a bit early,” Viktor observed. “I do hope you like jazz music.”

Viktor pulled out a chair for him, and as Yuuri was about to remove his own coat, Viktor decided to help him with it. The action was quick, not quite touching him at all, but that didn’t mean Yuuri didn’t get overwhelmed just by the thought of it.

Maybe he should be the one doing that? Oh, god. Was he screwing this up already?

Yuuri, being the dazed idiot that he still was, had to take a few moments to recover before responding with, “Yes, I do.”

“Well, thank god,” Viktor sighed dramatically. “I thought I was going to embarrass myself.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Yuuri reassured, watching Viktor making way to take a seat in front of him. “I’m pretty sure I like the music that you like.”

What.

“Not that it’s—” Yuuri tried to move back a bit to retain his dignity, but it wasn’t working. “I think...I mean—after Agape, I think you already...um...”

Viktor, who usually tried to make Yuuri as comfortable with the conversation as he could, did not jump in to help out. He was, in fact, smiling—like whatever breakdown Yuuri was going through was actually a fun thing to watch.

Well, Phichit thought that same thing too; but it wasn’t like Yuuri could easily punch Viktor in the face.

“Viktor...” Yuuri whined, because of course, what else could he have done?

“I like it,” Viktor leaned closer.

“What?”

“When you say my name,” he said, still smiling. “Actually, it’s the first time you ever called me that.”

“It is?”

“Though I wouldn’t be opposed to you calling me Mister Nikiforov for that whole night, if that’s what you like.”

 _Okay_.

Yuuri knew Viktor was a pretty good flirt but—shit.

And like an everyday hero, the waitress came in to get their orders.

Viktor had switched into a cheerier mode, asking about ingredients and stuff like that (honestly, Yuuri didn’t know if he still had brain cells at this point) and seemed to have forgotten about Yuuri’s  weird reaction to dirty jokes.

“No but seriously, I’m flattered that you’ve seen some of my videos,” Viktor’s attention was back to Yuuri again, shifting comfortably in his chair as Yuuri picked something from the menu. “Even the old ones that I now think are embarrassing.”

Yuuri frowned. “Agape wasn’t embarrassing.”

“Oh, but before that I tried a little bit of hip hop. And you know how hip hop back in those days involved really loose jerseys and chain necklaces?”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. “Chain necklaces and a wall clock.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Viktor looked somewhat mortified, smacking his head with the heel of his palm. “You saw that! Oh, god. I wasn’t even going to mention Flava Flav.”

And then, as if he had suddenly forgotten how nervous he was, Yuuri let out a laugh.

Maybe Viktor wasn’t as shameless as Yuuri thought he’d be—although Viktor being shameless wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—but the reaction itself was charming, humanizing, and Yuuri would do everything to see it again.

They talk about dance, about music, some of the things that Yuuri was more comfortable in. It involved Viktor asking him what he liked, but it didn’t bother him too much.

If there was one thing that Yuuri discovered that day, it was that watching Viktor eat was fascinating (that was creepy for him to say, sure, but everyone who’s ever been a fan should know that this is a normal Tuesday night in the life of a fanboy).

This was, of course, made possible because Yuuri had turned on the ‘do not disturb’ mode on his phone, so he didn’t get repeated texts about, ‘you really should work on getting some of that’ and some other stuff too explicit to leave alone.

Other than that, Yuuri was doing fine.

He found out that Viktor—his great idol who could do no wrong—had the habit of scraping every last bit of sauce on his plate, or lick his fingers, or couldn’t keep the sides of his lips clean from ketchup. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting; but maybe he was stupid enough to think that YouTube Vlogs were close enough to the truth.

He found out that Viktor had an interesting choice of music genres—ranging from smooth Bach from the Classical section to the slow tunes of Nirvana. Viktor has also done a few dance classes, usually in groups, and sometimes went to his old studio in St. Petersburg for a surprise visit.

At one time, he did a choreography and didn’t take credit for it, just to see if the crowd still reacted to it the same way.

“They didn’t,” Viktor said, shrugging. “I guess part of it will always be branding.”

Yuuri frowned. “I’m sure it’s a matter of who was dancing it than the choreography itself.”

“That’s true,” Viktor mused, tapping his finger on his chin. “I mean, look at you. I had eighteen students dance to Agape, but you’re the only one who managed to dance it the way you did.”

“That’s—” Yuuri felt like he was about to fall out of his chair, feeling far too dizzy to keep himself upright.

Did he mention he didn’t know how to handle compliments very well?

“And no, I’m not being biased just because I think you’re very pretty,” Viktor smiled again, less sweetly and more flirtatious now, and Yuuri was close to having an Aneurysm. “You should know that I liked you’re dancing first and then you, which means that my opinion is still completely reasonable.”

Um. “Thank you?”

“God, I wonder if we could choreograph something with you en pointe,” Viktor slid his foot under the table, finding Yuuri’s. “I don’t suppose we could make it into the industry as a pair of danseurs?”

Yuuri was sure that he had turned beet red at this point. That, and Viktor Nikiforov playing fucking footsie with him under the table holy shit—

“I think that would be impossible.”

“Maybe,” was Viktor’s only response. “You’ll never know unless you try, though.”

Yuuri didn’t know what else he was going to say until yet another batch of everyday heroes saved his face again, signaled by the band calling everyone’s attention.

“Oh, good. They’re starting.” Viktor was clapping his hands, eyes shinning in excitement.

With the attention diverted toward the band, Yuuri allowed himself to slump back into the chair, noticing for the first time how stiff he had become. They had nice conversations, sure. But Viktor was apparently the type to drop flirty lines here and there—and it was so incredibly smooth that Yuuri had to get caught off guard every time.

-

With the songs old but nevertheless familiar, Yuuri found himself humming to the catchy melodies of wartime jazz. Patrons sometimes sing along with the band, old lyrics poetic and wonderful, setting a nice mood across the whole floor. It wasn’t a surprise that Yuuri found himself singing along eventually.

This night wasn’t too bad, after all.

_It don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing..._

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri looked up to see Viktor getting up, his hand stretching out toward him, a soft and hopeful smile on his face.

“Dance with me?”

Huh.

Instead of actually replying, Yuuri’s first instinct was to look around. There was some space left out in front of the band, sure, but no one was there. The music invited some dancing, but no one had taken the first move to come up front.

And as you might already know, Yuuri wasn’t the one to make the first move in these kinds of things.

“Don’t worry,” Viktor took his hand, although without pulling at it in insistence. “I’ve got you.”

And that was it.

Call Yuuri a cheesy movie buff with the weird tendency to imagine being in one, but there was no other metaphor he could ever use to describe how he felt in that moment—how easy it was to stand up and follow Viktor to the dance floor, how nerve-wracking it was to be the first to stand up and dance in front of everyone, how exhilarating it felt when people followed soon after and enjoyed the music with them.

And yes, New York was crazy. New York was full of weird things. But in that moment, Yuuri was happy to be in it.

As happy as he was nervous as he felt the rough skin on the palms of Viktor’s hands.

They proceeded to swing, fast and wonderfully exhausting, Yuuri’s face flushing and sweating. He found that when he danced, he was no longer uncomfortable or stiff or nervous.

When he danced with Viktor, the laws of relatively shoot up into a hyper-drive yet again, but this time, things were incredibly fast. He was seeing, feeling, so many things at once. He felt like he could do anything in that moment.

“I knew you could do it,” Viktor grinned. A thin sheet of sweat covered his face, his cheeks flushed, and his pristine hair wild and sticking out into different directions.

Now this—this was the Viktor that Yuuri found to be the most beautiful.

This was the Viktor who pretty no matter how disheveled he looked.

And though Yuuri still doesn’t know much about him on a personal level, he knew it when he saw a smile he’s never seen him wear before.

-

The night ended later than Yuuri had expected. As promised, no matter how high the adrenaline got to them, Viktor hadn’t brought them anywhere near the bar. Yuuri was sober, but he wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t fretting, wasn’t too mindful when Viktor took his hand and held it in his as they were walking home, he was less likely to fumble whenever the conversation dropped into a more flirtatious tone.

“So what are your plans?”

“Hmmm?” Viktor looked to him, eyes wide and happy.

“After teaching, I mean.”

Yuuri _hadn’t_ wanted to go that route. He hadn’t thought about it at all, just a thing he managed to ask when a conversation about something else started to die down, and now he had realized that it might have been a mistake.

Viktor, however, didn’t look disconcerted at all.

“I have a production coming up in two weeks or so,” he said, unfazed. “I’ll be gone for about a week and then I’ll be back to practicing in New York.”

He couldn’t help but sigh. Which was pathetic, because his relationship with Viktor hadn’t really gone anywhere near a milestone. He knew that as some level Viktor did like him enough to ask him on a date, but they were nowhere near serious enough to make their future plans to coincide with the other.

“Why’d you ask?” Viktor quirked an eyebrow.

“Ah, it’s nothing.”

And then. A smile appeared on Viktor’s face. “Why? You think you’re gonna miss me?”

“Maybe.”

And then they stopped.

Yuuri looked up to see that they were in front of his apartment building, and then his heart sank. Their night has truly ended this time, and for some cheesy pathetic reason, Yuuri didn’t want it too.

“I guess this is me,” Yuuri said, still looking up at the building.

Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s hand, the one that he held, and gently guided him to face the other way. Yuuri allowed himself to be pulled, only to realize a second too late that he was standing so, so close.

He was a breath away from Viktor, enough that he could breathe the air he breathes—close enough that he could feel the other’s warmth radiating.

“If you let me,” Viktor said, his voice no louder than a soft purr. “I would kiss you goodbye.”

And no, none of that cheesy, “yes” before going in and _just_ kissing him, no hesitation in taking what he for so long wanted.

And oh, Viktor’s lips were soft as his palms were rough. Yuuri felt every bone in his body weaken, his blood racing, his heart thumping as if it wanted to break out of his skin. There was nothing quite like it.

But it didn’t last long. Viktor was the one to pull away first, slowly and gently, and smiled softly.

“There is nothing quite like you, Katsuki Yuuri,” he said, and bent to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you wanted a turn for the explicit, but again, if you're familiar with me, my chapter counts are _lies_ and I'm a slowburn writer who likes tacky fluff to develop relationships. There will be sexy times, but not today, pervs.
> 
> Le Tumblr for a glimpse at me shitty life: [@paperclipper](https://paperclipper.tumblr.com/)


	4. Day 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse my sorry attempt at experimenting with different formats. Also, sorry this is sooo late dammit

On the next day, Viktor texted him.

Nothing too leading or flirtatious or fancy, just a very brief “ _coffee?”_ along with several inexplicable emojis that were otherwise adorable. Which was weird, because Phichit often did the emoji thing and Yuuri usually thought it was annoying.

Anyway, to make matters worse, Phichit was sleeping in and was having “the worst hangover ever”, and now Yuuri didn’t know what to wear.

The traitor.

So he settled for something a little more understated. Fancier than the usual, but nothing too different that he might come on too strong. The last thing he wanted to happen was for Viktor to think that he was over-eager.

And that’s how he ended up in some fancy coffee place with Viktor. None of the hipster-y stuff going on, but it was the kind of overpriced place businessmen went to for quick meetings or to do work in. The coffee was probably brewed from the cheapest beans and what they were truly paying for was the right to sit somewhere fancy.

Welcome to Manhattan.

“So, have you thought about what you’re doing for the recital?”

He looked up at Viktor with a weird expression, mostly because he hadn’t expected that question to come out so early into the term.

“You didn’t know?” Viktor asked. “Don’t they usually tell you at the beginning of the term?”

“Well, yeah. They did.” Yuuri instinctively scratched his cheek for no reason. It was a habit of his that he’d picked up from somewhere. Hopefully Viktor doesn’t notice his internal struggle to try to explain himself. “But I thought it was not mandatory?”

“It isn’t. I thought you might want to. I’m sure a couple of scouts will be there.”

Yuuri almost choked on his coffee. “Scouts?”

“I know they’re there for the seniors, but it doesn’t hurt to show off a bit,” Viktor shrugged. “You guys could definitely join. It’s like a talent show. Sometimes they’ll take notice of you very early on and make sure you’re in their shortlist by the time you’re about to graduate.”

Yeah. How about, no?

Just to be absolutely clear, Yuuri did love performing—no matter what his nerves told you. Minako had practically forced him to from a very young age, which made it a little easier for him as he grew older. But talent scouts are a different story. These were people from various companies that will surely make his career. Or break it.

“I’m not too sure about that,” Yuuri replied.

Viktor must have noticed him growing slightly uncomfortable, if not a little pale, since he reached over the table to cover Yuuri’s hand with his. “You don’t have to if you feel like you’re not ready,” he said. “But I really hope you do, and I’m willing to help you.”

That didn’t sound too bad, although it made Yuuri feel worse.

Viktor didn’t know him all that well yet, and Yuuri understood that, but there’s something about people getting out of their way to tiptoe around him that he didn’t like. “You don’t have to—I mean, I know you’re busy—”

“If me being busy meant that I have no time for things that don’t matter, then yes, that’s true,” he said. “But I’m here with you, so why do you think that is?”

Huh. _It means you’re wasting your time, that’s what it is._

Despite the fact that Viktor’s hand was too occupied to do a face-palm, Yuuri was sure he had the instinct to. “I meant, that I don’t mind spending time with you,” he sighed. “And I wouldn’t do this just because I have free time, do you understand?”

Did he just say that out loud? Dammit.

“Okay?”

“You can decide on the recital thing later,” Viktor looked up at Yuuri and smiled. “But right now, I have something you might want to consider—maybe not right now, you can decide whenever, but I hope you consider it at least.”

Suddenly unable to speak, Yuuri opted to just nod.

“Remember that piece I gave you?”

“Yeah?”

“The music’s an abridged version, a demo. I happen to have choreographed the extended one,” he said. “And I thought you’d be _marvellous_ at it.”

Well, that had made for a very shocking revelation.

Viktor did love doing choreography for other people; but to be offered something like that, to be seen as someone even close to worthy of that kind of attention, had the incessant alarms in Yuuri’s head going off.

“I—I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri replied. “I mean, if you really want people to see how good of a choreographer you are, shouldn’t you find good dancers to make sure they don’t ruin it for you?”

Unexpectedly, Viktor’s face morphed into a scowl—not a mean one, but more like a confused reaction to something incomprehensible. Which was weird, because no matter how you looked at it, Yuuri was making sense.

“You know, it’s okay for you to say you don’t want to do it because you aren’t ready,” he said, suddenly contemplative, but never closed off. “But underestimating yourself, Yuuri, is not good for you. And I know you can do it, so you really shouldn’t think about it like that.”

This supposedly lighthearted conversation has somehow turned into something far more stressful than he thought.

“Well, I—uh,” Yuuri sighed. “It’s not that I’m not trying, not really. But it’s—”

Viktor nodded for him to continue on, an invitation, but not a demand. Oh, and did Yuuri say he was very pretty in the morning?

“Well, I always thought all the credit I’ve ever received was because, you know, Minako’s— _Minako_. She was one of my references when I applied for Julliard, so, you know...”

Why the hell he was telling Viktor this, he surely didn’t know. Maybe it was the timing of it, maybe it was the question, but maybe Yuuri dearly needed an excuse not to do it.

“You do know they only ever call the references for work ethics and good moral character and that sort of thing, right? It’s very similar to how they’d treat someone’s contact info in a resume.”

Yuuri frowned. “No.”

“Well, that’s what it is,” Viktor shrugged. “I had Yakov’s name plastered on my references—from Julliard to new companies I applied to back then—and guess what? That hadn’t stopped anyone from telling me I was unoriginal.”

“That is _not_ true.”

“It isn’t now,” Viktor offered him a smile, reaching his eyes, his head tilting very slightly in fond memory. “I used to remember just imitating how other people did it. It’s not a bad thing, not if you’re looking for something to work with when you have nothing. But it came to a point where I did everything—how do you call it? Textbook? By the book? I practically had a formula down.”

“I would never have imagined,” he said.

Viktor’s dancing was the product of multiple inspirations. There was so much of the Russian ballet in the way he moved, a little bit of snappiness coming from his love for Jazz, a little bit of careless abandon from his time with hip hop. A mess of elegant styles into one person. A perfect Black Swan.

“And how about you, Yuuri Katsuki?” he said. “Do you think I only enjoyed success because Yakov had been an amazing choreographer?”

What.

Yuuri looked down, letting the implied message sink in for a bit. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

“There we go.” His faint smile broke into a grin, his face lighting up more than ever before. “So, you’ll tell me when you’re ready?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He wasn’t going to end up doing that, he didn’t think so, but it’s best that they left the conversation there. Yuuri had the slightest feeling Viktor might try to convince him anyway.

“Though I hope, that regardless of your decision on the matter,” Viktor’s thumb was rubbing circles at the back of Yuuri’s hand, the touch light and careful. “You’d still continue to see me.”

Yuuri’s heart was pounding. He was having his doubts, a lot more so when Viktor vocalized his intent than when everything was all but explicitly implied, but then he thought; _how could I ever say no to that?_ Or how could anyone, especially if they were seeing what Yuuri was seeing.

“Yeah,” he managed to say, slightly breathless. “I’d like that.”

-

Apparently, the only reason why Viktor had gotten to teach them for two weeks was because their assigned instructor for Classical Ballet was—to put it into context—lost. Leo had said something about him being heartbroken or something like that, and as Yuuri looked to Georgi Popovich’s hastily done make up, he was beginning to think Leo might be right about that.

“Forget what you know about form,” Georgi waltzed inside the room, his gait graceful though a little too heavy, eyes gloomy. “About symmetry. About which way to raise your hand and which way to point your toes. Nothing is sadder than a dancer who doesn’t know how to portray emotion.”

Yuuri also hasn’t discounted the fact that most of their instructors abide by their own brand of strange, so Yuuri wouldn’t put it behind Georgi if he was naturally melancholic all the time.

“Most of you have been training under wonderful people since the age of five, some of you younger,” Georgi said. “You all know what the proper form is, so what’s the point discussing them here now? If you don’t know you’re basics, then you should really start thinking about finding a new career.”

Everybody in that room winced.

It wasn’t rare for teachers to be this blunt. To be honest, Yuuri thought this might be a thing the faculty has agreed among themselves, to make sure that the prestige of the school is heavily emphasized. Maybe it’s their own cruel way of weeding the weak ones before graduation.

“Yuuri,” Sara dropped next to him, graceful as she lowered herself into a squat, her hair sweeping one side of her face. “We’re doing pairs today.”

-

“Hey, Yuuri,” Phichit mused, chopping up vegetables in Yuuri’s kitchen.

Yuuri did not ask him to be there, nor did he expect _anyone_ to be in his kitchen at seven in the evening. But Phichit was Phichit, so he really should start getting used to these things.

“What are you making again?”

“Guacamole.”

“You don’t have Nachos, Phichit.”

“Really? I thought you can dip basically anything and it’ll taste good.”

“Please stop using my kitchen when you’re bored.”

“I’m not bored,” Phichit raised a kitchen knife as if to communicate his ability to cook. Or to peel avocados ineffectively. Yuuri found no use for that knife except to open a can of fruit cocktail. “Come on, you know I don’t have a kitchen! And I wanted to try something healthy, for once.”

Yuuri didn’t believe him one bit.

“Okay, fine,” Phichit sighed, returning to his work. “I might have spent an obscene amount of time watching cooking shows and this—this TV shopping channel that sold fruit peelers.”

“And did you buy the fruit peelers?”

“No. I did the next best thing,” Phichit said. “Recreate whatever it was they were making on-set. Which reminds me, there wasn’t really a recipe. What do you think they meant when they said…‘a pinch of’ something?”

He rolled his eyes heavenward and proceeded to wash his face in the bathroom. For some inexplicable reason, Yuuri felt tired. He didn’t know if it were caused by school or his repeated mistake of staying too late at night watching whatever was available on Netflix.

He was leeching off Minako’s account, sure, but maybe karma was coming to bite him in the ass.

“You look tired,” Phichit thought out loud, eyeing Yuuri as he stepped out of the bathroom. “Did Viktor stay over or what?”

“He did not.”

“Sometime soon, then?”

“No.”

“Really? Because I don’t see any of his posters on your wall,” Phichit continued with his peeling. “I’m starting to think you’re keeping it that way just in case.”

Yuuri will _not_ indulge that question. He’ll think about it, sure, but there was no way he was going to discuss this right now. “Did you actually delete the blackmail folder?”

“No?”

“Why?!”

“Uh, you didn’t really ask him out, so...”

“Hey,” Yuuri frowned. “We went on a date.”

That, in itself, felt oddly foreign coming from Yuuri’s own mouth. But it was the truth, and he felt overly stupid for feeling good about it like a thirteen-year-old.

“Honey, that was me, wingman-ing you.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Stop questioning my intelligence, Katsuki,” Phichit scolded. “I’ve read more books than you in two weeks.”

-

 

 

 

 

> **Yuuri Katsuki’s Grocery List**
> 
> 1\. Buttered Popcorn (90% Fat-free) – 7 Bags
> 
> 2\. Cup Noodles (Chicken, Spicy Beef) – 7 Cups
> 
> 3\. Toilet Paper (2 Ply) – 4 Rolls
> 
> 4\. Isopropyl Alcohol (100 ml)
> 
> 5\. _Salonpas_ (Large Patches) – 20 Pcs.
> 
> 6\. Dish Soap (Don’t let Phichit use the dishwasher. Little Fucker.)
> 
> 7\. Face Towels – 12 Pcs.
> 
> 8\. Razor (Will I look good with a beard?)

-

On a Wednesday, Viktor had asked if he could go with Yuuri—wherever it was that he needed to go.

The weirdest thing about all that was that Yuuri didn’t have any other plans that day than to go grocery shopping, maybe stock up on some toiletries, or get some more of that microwaveable stuff he kept in his cupboards in case of emergency.

And Viktor had agreed to come. Well, _begged_ Yuuri to, because Yuuri thought that it was the most ridiculous thing to ever be excited about. He was sure he tried fighting it, fiercely, but gave up at some point. He wasn’t sure if it was Viktor’s pleading or his desire to be left alone.

“Hey,” Viktor had nudged him, walking alongside Yuuri as they were passing by an aisle full of cup noodles and all the sort of things bad for you. “Do you mind?”

Yuuri noticed that Viktor was holding up his phone, waving it in his hand, on his face an obvious question. “You don’t have to be on it,” he said. “If you don’t want to. I mean, it’s been a long time since I updated.”

The fuck.

“Sure,” Yuuri shrugged. “But I really—um, how do I say this?”

“You’re camera shy,” Viktor grinned.

“Uh, no?”

“Really?” Viktor went on to stand in front of him, oddly very close, phone camera pointed straight at Yuuri’s face.

Was it weird to think that someone smelled nice? Was it out of social propriety to tell them that in the middle of a grocery store?

There was a faint beeping sound, distinctly that of a record button.

“Oh my god, Viktor,” Yuuri tried reaching for the camera, but instead ended up clawing at air. “Don’t!”

Viktor looked like he was trying to suppress a laugh, which in turn became a playful snort. “Why? I thought you weren’t camera shy.”

“Well, I am! Get it away!”

“Aw, look at you struggling, _Zolotse_ ,” Viktor continued, tauntingly pointing the camera so close it might have only caught Yuuri’s nose, and then he pulled back just in time before his phone got snatched away. “You know this isn’t going in the vlog, right? But look at you!”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Yuuri sighed, resorting to covering his face with his hands. “I revoke your permission to vlog in my presence.”

Viktor pulled the phone back right away, looking surprised. “What? This one wasn’t vlogging. This was me documenting you.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well,” Viktor stepped into his space yet again, his nose so close to Yuuri’s it made him think of the last time he brushed his teeth. What is this. “Let’s just say it’s for my own personal collection. Something to watch when I’m off to L.A. this weekend. Am I banned from doing that too?”

 _Jesus_.

-

“What are those?” Viktor was looking at the things in Yuuri’s shopping cart. His phone was pointed toward the mess of things Yuuri had thrown in, looking over his phone to read the labels. “Oh...cup noodles? Did you know some have wax in them?”

Yuuri gagged. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I don’t know, internet? That’s a major concern, though! And don’t these have preservatives in them? Salt? GSM? Shouldn’t you being avoiding these things?”

Like most people, Yuuri had expected a punchline, something to tell him that everything that came out of Viktor’s mouth was sarcastic. But it was not. In fact, Viktor looked genuinely horrified at the idea of slurping Cup Noodles rather than going hungry for the week.

“That’s like saying you never ate a bag of chips, Viktor,” Yuuri said. “And that wax thing was from eight years ago. They must have set regulations or something like that to protect old me from food poisoning.”

“I haven’t. Eaten a bag of chips, I mean,” he said, still looking weirded out. It was as if Yuuri was the odd-man-out in that particular conversation. “I’d really rather grow old and healthy, thank you very much.”

“Tell that to the mac n’ cheese you’ve been eating at Grease,” Yuuri replied, ignoring him, eyes scanning for something he might end up eating while watching four seasons of _House M.D_.

Viktor sounded harassed. “It was a cheat day!”

“Every other day is your cheat day?”

This _thing_ has been going on for about twenty minutes. Viktor did keep his promise and has never pointed the camera at Yuuri’s way, talking about the most random things when he felt like it, sometimes pointing his phone at an isle of vegetables or something like that.

However, as time went on, he began asking if he could tell his viewers he was grocery shopping with someone else, promising to not say Yuuri’s name, and was given permission to film whatever it was Yuuri’s buying or including clips where Yuuri was talking. Why the hell Viktor thought Yuuri’s poor choice in food was a thing to be considered interesting, was a mystery.

It felt awkward at first. Though Yuuri’s used to seeing how Viktor would look in the many videos he’d uploaded, it was still weird to see someone holding up a camera in such a public environment. That, and Viktor’s rambling on about how his week went when he wasn’t really looking at anyone in particular.

People were glancing at them constantly, more toward Viktor that anything else, but maybe that’s only because he was pretty. Do pretty people get away with things more easily?

“So, how many of these are you buying again?” Viktor asked, picking up one of the microwaveable popcorns, allowing the camera to focus on the label.

It was one of those things Yuuri took a liking to and had habitually started stocking up on whenever he was doing groceries. He liked them, a lot. Too much for his own good, to be honest. But Yuuri was doing five hours of dance and regular cardio five times a week. Surely, the world ought to let him have this, at least.

“About seven of them, I think?”

“What?” Viktor looked disgusted. “Is that all you’re eating this week?”

“No?” Yuuri shrugged. “The last week of the month, maybe. How long did it take before you went broke?”

Viktor suddenly bolted the other way, disappearing to another aisle. Yuuri thought little of it until he saw Viktor come back, carrying what looked to be a butt-load of unnecessary things.

“What is _that_?” Yuuri eyed the items suspiciously.

“Well, if you’re going to spend a whole week eating disgusting things, you might as well try my favourites. They’re a lot cheaper, too,” Viktor dropped an armful of “organic” popcorn and proceeded to take the ones Yuuri had picked out. “We’re returning these.”

“What the hell’s an organic popcorn?”

“No idea,” Viktor said. “But it makes you less-guilty about it, so why not?”

“I don’t think that—”

And then all of the sudden, Viktor’s lips were on his. It was quick, no more than a peck, endearingly playful if Yuuri weren’t in the middle of a crowded public space.

“Viktor!”

“Got you,” Viktor laughed, and disappeared once again to return the popcorn he so fervently despised.

-

You would think that after being free of classes where Viktor was in it was going to make things easier for Yuuri.

No, it was not.

Frankly, that whole week had him thinking twice about ever getting into Julliard in the first place—starting with Georgi’s strange bias toward emotion and expression down to Lilia’s insistent emphasis on form and grace and “becoming a chameleon”.

“ _The old you is dead, become a new person with every new piece of music you are given.”_

This has led to varying levels of humorous conversations after school, with Leo planning to write down every notable quote Lilia Baranovskaya ever said and Phichit suddenly drafting a whole play using all of them.

The highlight of Yuuri’s week, however, was not something he had expected. Well, maybe he did, considering how much he was fumbling all through his Classical Ballet classes.

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise when Georgi told him to stay after class. That hasn’t happened in a while, but Yuuri was still repeatedly getting lectures from Lilia that week. In all honesty, Yuuri wasn’t feeling too good about his performance at all, which made it all the more depressing if he thought about it.

“Tell me, Yuuri,” Georgi said, eyes focused on packing his things, not giving Yuuri much attention. There was so much shuffling happening that Yuuri expected this whole ordeal to be over in the next five minutes. “What did your last instructor tell you?”

Huh.

“I, uh—I tend to lose focus sometimes, I think.”

“You think?” Georgi finally looked up, his expression curious.

Damn. So it wasn’t just Viktor’s way of teasing him, then.

“I struggled with the demo part of things,” Yuuri said. “Especially when we have to perform in front of the class. I’m sorry about falling today...sir. I was clearly not thinking.”

“You know, it really doesn’t matter if you make mistakes on demos, that’s not unheard of. But you do know what the others think of you, don’t you?”

What the others— _what_?

Yuuri shook his head instead of speaking. He’s never heard of this before. He might have thought his classmates probably think of him as inadequate, but he’s never really been confronted with it, so he had hoped that no one really gives him a second look.

Judging by the way Georgi was looking at him however, told a very, very different story.

“I don’t,” Yuuri said. “I haven’t heard—”

Georgi sighed, moving across the room to retrieve his CDs by the music player. “You’re talented, I know. Your audition was considered one of the best this year, I think. But your fellow students don’t know that, do they?”

Yuuri still didn’t know what Georgi was talking about. _Yuuri_ didn’t know what Georgi was talking about.

If Georgi had wanted to be kind about it, then he would have said something akin to, “ _you’re underperforming again_ ” or “ _do better next time_ ”. He could take something from Lilia’s book and basically sugarcoat “ _you suck_ ” in the most elegant way possible. Yuuri didn’t need to be told these things just to make him feel better about his own incompetence.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Katsuki?”

Of course, not.

“Not really...”

“Your teachers already know you’re good, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try harder. Don’t you notice how Lilia’s giving you more chances to do something over?” Georgi raised his dark eyebrows. “Or that she keeps asking you what’s on your mind when you’re having a particularly bad day?”

But wasn’t that because he was fucking up most of the time? No? Well, shit.

“You have to prove yourself to your classmates as well, otherwise they’re going to think we’re unfair in giving you second chances,” Georgi said. He was carefully arranging his things, stuffing them carefully in his suitcase slash gym bag of some sorts, making sure everything fit nicely. “Listen, I don’t want you to end up with your peers only knowing you for being Viktor’s boyfriend.”

Oh my fucking god.

“N—no, it’s really not what it is!”

“There’s nothing wrong about it. I’m happy Vitya’s happy. At least someone can reason with him now, but—” Georgi shook his head, zipping up his bag hastily. “I really have no control over the rumour mill, Mr. Katsuki. And if one misguided student stepped up to tell me I’ve been playing favourites because of your association with a friend of mine, there’s only so much I can do. Think about that, will you?”

 _Okay._ Yuuri had a lot to say about that, but it didn’t seem right to just outwardly deny everything else and make it sound like he didn’t take Georgi seriously.

“Yes, I will...” Yuuri looked down. “...sir.”

“Remember our assignments this week?”

“You mean the solos?”

Georgi nodded. “Tell you what, do good in that one, and this whole things stops. I bet no one’s going to question you or your performance, and I don’t have to deal with it,” he said. “Recitals this year has limited slots, too. We’ll be deciding on who gets a slot based on the regular monthly assignments.”

Yuuri blinked. “You want me to do the recital?”

“All your teachers do,” Georgi replied, almost nonchalant. Like it was a given and not a thing to even be asked about.

-

“Hey, Leo,” Yuuri prodded, sipping on his second glass of coffee that day. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Leo replied, not looking up from his phone. “On second thought, give me two minutes. This one’s getting pretty intense. After that, I’m all yours.”

He was watching the usual rap battle videos again, sometimes reacting to what was being said in the most entertaining and comical ways imaginable.

The four of them were in their usual coffee shop that day. It wasn’t a daily thing—their bladders won’t forgive them if it were—but it had turned into a thing that they did every Friday. Though their schedules really weren’t in sync with each other, they get out of class at the same time by the end of the week.

Hence, their routine.

Phichit was finishing off some take-home assignment he forgot to do and Guang-Hong had excused himself to go to the bathroom. Everyone seemed to look fine, untroubled, mostly relieved that the week was over. Clearly, it was the perfect time to ask what Yuuri was about to.

“Have you—uh, are there any talks about me and Viktor going around or something?”

This made Leo pause. Still not looking up from his phone, his face scrunched up, and he went, “Why?”

“I don’t—I, well, I might have heard something? I don’t know. Maybe I just misheard and took it the wrong way.” He really shouldn’t have asked. This was starting to become rather uncomfortable. “You know what, never mind—”

Leo, however, had already put his phone down. His focus was already on Yuuri, looking a bit hesitant. Phichit overheard the question—as he always did—and was now paying close attention to what was being said.

Great job, Katsuki.

“If you’re really asking, well...” His voice seemed oddly off, like it was a pitch higher than it usually was. Leo was now avoiding Yuuri’s eyes, a strange thing for him to do. Leo was never normally uncomfortable. “Some of them kind of noticed? Viktor wasn’t being subtle about it.”

“Okay,” Yuuri sighed.

“Also, people have seen you together last weekend,” Leo added. “And last Wednesday.”

“And?”

Leo was scowling. He had the face of someone who might have the impulse to run away and never come back. “You’re not making this easy...”

Just before Yuuri could even begin to react, Phichit had spoken for him. “Is someone insinuating that Yuuri—”

“Not like that!” Leo interrupted him, hands raised. “I don’t think they mean to. But just the beginning of doing that, you know? Sorry, I know I’m not making any sense.”

“You aren’t.”

“People have been asking me and Guang-Hong about you. We don’t think there’s anything wrong, so we don’t really deny it. Plus, people have been seeing you together a lot lately, so we didn’t see the point of lying about it,” Leo said. “They started asking us about where you’re from and where you used to train, who recommended you to Julliard. They’ve been trying to remember which of them had more or less seen you on audition day...”

“Well,” Phichit snorted. “That’s none of their business.”

“It isn’t,” Yuuri agreed. “But you know I’ve been getting worse this week. Do you think Viktor might be overlooking my faults because—well, I don’t want to assume.”

“Whoa, _whoa_ ,” Phichit shook his head, looking almost offended. “Remember what you said he told you, Katsuki?”

“I don’t.”

“That he liked your dancing before he liked your pretty face or something,” Phichit frowned. Viktor might have said something like that, but Yuuri imagined it’d be a lot smoother. “And don’t say that. We all have bad days. I was asked to step out of class because I fell asleep and didn’t read six or seven chapters last night.”

“Wait, what?”

“What I’m saying,” Phichit said, not letting Yuuri cut in. “Is that it’s normal to screw up. We all do. Leo’s been telling you he’s not doing too well in Madame Lilia’s class. Guang-Hong says he needed to figure out flexibility exercises or something like that. I’m having trouble memorizing things.”

“And I mean no offence to your boyfriend, but—” Guang-Hong slipped beside Leo, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. “But Viktor’s not all that credible to even change Lilia’s mind. Not yet, anyway. So even if he were favouring you, he still wouldn’t be responsible to _the_ Madame taking a liking to you.”

Yuuri was silent for a while, his feelings were incomprehensible, mixed. He didn’t know whether he should deny all the attention or to thank them. It was clear to him and to everyone else that he wasn’t _enough_ but that—

Was that what his classmates thought of him?

_I don’t want you to end up with your peers only knowing you for being Viktor’s boyfriend._

Phichit, who was always the first to sense Yuuri’s misery, broke the silence first.

“I think,” he said. “That you should talk to Viktor.”

Ugh.

“And what do you suppose I tell him? _‘Oh hey, people have been whispering about us and stuff, were you dropping compliments about me behind my back to convince Lilia I’m more than what I could actually do?’_ ”

“Oh, here we go,” Leo grunted.

“What?”

“Yuuri,” Phichit said. “It’s not a big deal. People say what they want to say. People want to know what Viktor’s doing and when they knew you were somehow involved, they brought their attention to you. They wouldn’t be so crass about it if Viktor wasn’t Viktor. It’ll blow over, trust me.”

Yuuri huffed.

 _Of course_ , Phichit would say that. It’s the most friend thing to do.

If Phichit were a horrible person, he’d probably ask Yuuri why this was bothering him and try to shrug it off like it was not a big deal. But Phichit was kind. He paid attention to detail, and knew when Yuuri was feeling either uncomfortable, insecure, or exposed.

It made believing him a lot harder.

“So, what do you suggest I do?” Yuuri asked. “After getting my confidence boost from Viktor.”

Which probably won’t work at all, Yuuri thought.

“Well, you can always show them how wrong they are,” Phichit smiled. “Didn’t you tell me you were excited for next week’s solo assignments?”

-

**Vlog 38 - Grocery Shopping!**

1,293,911 views

 

**2,337 Comments**

Add a public comment...

 

 **Tim Laleouch** 3 hours ago

yo anyone in Julliard can give us a sumthing sumthing?

**View all 3 replies ^**

**  
Gummi Bear** 4 hours ago

tumblr people should do an indepth research on this guy

**View all 2 replies ^**

**  
Milady** 4 hours ago

pedo comments here we go

**View all 21 replies ^**

**  
Allan Pubb** 4 hours ago

you look so pretty! Did viktor get a haircut or something?  
 

 **Lilia thefourth** 4 hours ago

I like the first popcorns he got tho  
 

 **Jordan Parker** 4 hours ago

I’m actually guilty of this. College ramen nights, anyone?  
 

 **Krystal Klear** 4 hours ago

Debate about mystery guy in

3…

2…

1…

 **View all 17 replies  
**  

 **Hillary Borden** 5 hours ago

It’s been a long time since Vitya updated. I hope you do awesome in LA!   


**Dancing Fairy** 5 hours ago

lol at Viktor’s reaction to the cup noodles

**View all 6 replies  
**

   
**Heather** 5 hours ago

we love you Vitya!!!  
 

 **pumatigerscorpion** 5 hours ago

well, I should start buying coleslaw or something. What do you put in salads?

 

 **Bic Mitchum** 5 hours ago

IS NO ONE GOING TO POINT OUT THIS MYSTERY PERSON TALKING TO VITYA

**Hide replies ^  
  
**

 

> **Metta World Peace** 5 hours ago
> 
> Bic Mitchum he sounds sexy too…….
> 
> **Jodi Ollie** 5 hours ago
> 
> dunno viktor didn’t post anything on instagram either
> 
> **Makkachoke** 5 hours ago
> 
> Myabe its his student??
> 
> **Bic Mitchum 4** hours ago
> 
> Makkachoke yah he sounds young. Someone from Manhattan pleas confirm
> 
> **Viktor Nike 4** hours ago
> 
> Bic Mitchum oh my god calm down. he’s probably with a friend or something. You people are being weird af

   
**Melinda Parley** 5 hours ago

is it just me or are these vlogs getting a little too close for comfort?

-

Yuuri’s phone buzzed. He’d silenced it earlier, but hadn’t turned off the vibrate mode. Phichit, who steadily pretended not to notice it, began to look at Yuuri suspiciously.

“Who’s that?”

“My sister.”

“Your sister,” Phichit deadpanned.

“Yes, my sister, Phichit.”

“Isn’t it like,” Phichit made to look at his watch, counting the hours in his head. “It’s 2 am in Japan right now.”

“She stays up late sometimes.”

Phichit hummed.

Yuuri ignored him.

The phone rang again.

Phichit went for it this time.

A no-nonsense impulse to pick up the phone and peer at the caller ID. As soon as he saw it, his face changed, from playfully suspicious to awfully worried. “Viktor’s calling you.”

“He is.”

“How many times has he called you?”

Yuuri did not want to answer that.

And if he was being real about it, Yuuri didn’t know how many times Viktor has called either. He had expected him to give up as the evening went on, but he didn’t. Now he had to deal with a worrisome Phichit who may or may not have already pieced things two and two together.

“Yuuri, isn’t he leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow? He’ll probably want to say goodbye or something like that,” Phichit said. “Not that he’ll be gone long, but you know what I mean.”

No answer.

“Okay, fine,” Phichit sighed. “You don’t want to talk about it, that’s your deal. But please, answer the poor man so he doesn’t end up thinking he did something wrong—” a pause. “—did he?”

“He didn’t.”

Phichit blinked, obviously confused. He frowned, face deep in thought, and pursed his lips. “Well, I don’t know what to do about this...”

And Yuuri would have handled it like a champ, would have told Phichit that he was going to fix it before he went to bed that night, if not for the knock on the door.

Yuuri didn’t order anything over the phone. He didn’t buy anything online. He didn’t have guests who came in this late. He didn’t have overly warm neighbours. He tried his best not to do anything to disturb them. He paid his rent on time this month.

Really, why was he even trying to make a checklist of the people who could possibly come to him this late? It’s not like he didn’t know.

Sighing, Yuuri went for the door _and what do you know_.

Viktor was standing there, outside of his apartment door, beautiful in a brown trench coat and purple scarf. In his hands were a bouquet of flowers, the same blue ones he gave Yuuri on their first date, and his fingers were carding through his pale hair.

He looked glum.

“You weren’t answering my calls,” Viktor went right in, not thinking as he was speaking, but caught himself when he saw Phichit standing on the corner.

Well.

“You know what, I still have homework to do,” Phichit raised his hands, eyes suddenly looking for his notebooks, his phone tucked away into his back pocket. “See you on Monday?”

“Phichit—”

“Good luck in LA, Viktor!”

“I will,” Viktor responded almost a little too late, dumbfounded.

It was only when the door closed behind Phichit, that Yuuri began to inwardly panic.

- 

> _**Hypothetical Situation No. 5:** _ **Viktor has called you five times in the last two hours. You, being a weak-willed idiot, were in the middle of freaking out about the most trivial things so you really didn’t have the balls to pick it up.**
> 
> **Q: What’s your excuse to not answering Viktor Nikiforov’s phone calls—who is, by the way, your long time crush and idol and has become symbolic in your teenage sexual awakening—and thoroughly convince him that it’s you and not him?**
> 
> a.) I’m freaking out—as per usual.
> 
> b.) You shouldn’t be here.
> 
> c.) You look beautiful tonight.
> 
> d.) I’m on your notification squad and I kind of watch your vlogs all the time. Yes, that includes the comment section, Viktor, and I’m freaking out—

-

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Viktor said, the bouquet of flowers hanging from his side, somewhat forgotten.

Not a question, then. An observation.

“Not just tonight, too,” Viktor continued. “You’ve been avoiding me since yesterday.”

“I was busy,” Yuuri tried.

“Really? You weren’t returning my calls, not responding to my texts,” Viktor’s eyes were looking around the apartment, observing the small little potted plants by the window. He found the coffee table and carefully placed the flowers there, like a peace offering of some sorts. “You do know I can see it when you read the texts, right? That I know when you’re ignoring me?”

“Viktor...”

“I’m really sorry,” Viktor stepped in front of him, not at all too close. Yuuri was starting to think he didn’t like it when Viktor was like this. “Was it because I put too much in the vlog? Do you want me to take it down?”

“No...”

“Then—was I? Shouldn’t I have kissed you in public?”

“No!”

What the hell. Shit shit shit shit.

Viktor’s serious face softened, his posture loosened up—and then, as if out of nowhere, he laughed. “Well, um—so you weren’t against me kissing you in public.”

Yuuri seriously wanted to slam his face on the nearest kitchen counter. “Oh my goodness.”

Viktor stepped a little closer, enough that he was able to hold Yuuri’s hand, lacing their fingers together. His tone was gentle, teasing even, and it was so stupidly endearing Yuuri might end up falling to his knees and suck the soul out of his d—

“ _Zolotse_ ,” Viktor said. “I missed you. I know you spend your Friday afternoon with your friends, but...I’m sorry if I’m being too pushy. It’s just that I’m leaving tomorrow night.”

Yuuri couldn’t look at him. Not straight into his eyes. Not when he’s speaking in Russianand not when his voice had changed like that. It wasn’t helping that Yuuri was very aware of how _alone_ they were—not a fancy old studio where people could walk in on them anytime, but Yuuri’s own private apartment.

He felt Viktor’s fingers touch his chin, gentle and none too demanding, and lifted his face.

“Tell me what I’ve done so I can fix it,” Viktor said. “Or if there’s no fixing it, then maybe I’ll act more carefully next time?”

Yuuri sighed. “It’s just—well, people have been talking about us.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And they’re starting to think you were giving me extra attention I didn’t deserve.”

“ _Not_ true,” Viktor said.

“So the part where you asked me to come thirty minutes before class wasn’t a ploy to sweep me off my feet?”

Viktor sputtered.

 _Got you_.

“Well, you know...” Viktor winced, his cheeks colouring, ears reddening. “I did get the others to come. So it’s not like it’s all you...”

Yuuri gave up the restraint he’s been keeping up and slipped his arms around Viktor’s neck, nothing too close or too suggestive, just an embrace. But their faces were close, he could feel the heat of Viktor’s breath, and he wondered how close he’d have to get before he could feel the heat on Viktor’s skin.

“I wasn’t mad about that video. Or you kissing me,” Yuuri said. “I just got a lecture today—like I normally do—and I caught wind of something and I freaked out. I didn’t—I didn’t want to worry you.”

“And what was it that you heard?” Viktor asked. “That made you freak out?”

“Georgi’s a friend of yours?”

“Same dance company, yeah,” Viktor’s fingers were combing through Yuuri’s hair, light and feathery touches. “I think we first met at a summer camp, when we were five.”

“He said he didn’t want me to end up...well...” Yuuri swallowed. “He didn’t want me to end up being known for being just your—”

“My what?”

shit shit shit shit

“Yuuri?”

“Your boyfriend.”

A pause.

“Although that’s not really—I mean, you don’t have to—I’m not assuming anything or anything like that! Georgi was the one assuming, I think. And the other students. It’s just that I like spending time with you a lot and stuff and it’s been a long time and—”

Yuuri found himself being effectively silenced by a kiss. A long, lingering one. It was slow and breath-taking, and if Yuuri could be any more of a sap than he was right at that moment, he might as well have described the whole thing similar to that of Summer Festivals in Japan.

“Listen to me, Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor whispered against Yuuri’s mouth, their breaths mixing, becoming one. “You don’t want labels, that’s okay. You don’t want people to know about us yet, that’s fine too. But it makes _me_ sad,” he kissed Yuuri again, quicker this time. “That you think yourself inadequate. You are not. So stop freaking out. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

He hoped Viktor was right about that.

Maybe Yuuri was confident. Maybe Yuuri was wonderful and talented and could change the world of dancing altogether. And the funniest of all, is that Yuuri wanted to believe him.

“Tell me,” Yuuri said. “When do you get back from LA?”

Viktor pulled back, his eyebrows raised. “Wow,” he said. “Are you planning for my return already?”

“Maybe,” Yuuri said. “Do you think you could—do you think you could help me with my solo assignment by then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the writing-centric Tumblr: [@anna-domini](https://anna-domini.tumblr.com/)
> 
> -
> 
> I'm still trying to decide on where this is going. I want it to be _extremely_ light-hearted because I've been writing far too much angst for my own good. Also, please disregard the total number of chapters (as you all know), because those things lie.


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